• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 09

La Vie en Rose

La Vie en Rose...

…is the kind of place you only have to visit once to never have to leave again. A place where you can sing along with tunes you may or may not have actually heard and be just the right amount of drunk on the mere sight of wine from three picnic blankets over. The sun swims lazily here, all day and all night in its lumiere-lit sky, and you only ever have to know love as a morning dew or a thousand different hues once immortalised on canvas by the very few godlike among us.

In this place, no one gets to decide the below or the above; it’s a somewhat malleable Jerusalem. One where you can drown your macaroni in passata bubbling like lava before you eat it, or spray paint it golden to wear like couture as evening comes. Frogs and chickens will happily share, even with chiens, because it's minimum two to a lily pad, and the more the merrier, so, why not? It’s a place where the grass juts skyward but the blades turn lush at exactly the right moment, so that you can be free to both sink and swim, stargazing at the lamb clouds frolicking above, floating free, this time, in their jus des raisin.

Borders bleed into trap doors and nothing is final, here. Except the leopard print trees that never stop finding new heights to remind us that stillness is perception but to never stop moving, nonetheless. Because never did growing tall and far and wide shatter the roots of the earth, so there’s really nothing to fear. Except maybe turning to stone. But even then you can break yourself open, again and again, like a morning baguette, whenever you want. The crumbs will shatter like a million stars to illuminate even the darkest night, always ready to guide you home. Right back to...

...La Vie en Rose