Rhapsody in Paris

Like that charming singer with that kind of alluring pair of smoky eyes and vintage red lips in her small glamourous black dress who sang Saving All My Love at an unknown jazz bar on Sunday night.

She hurried into her dressing room behind the bar where I was sitting, leaving a faint fragrance of Chanel No. 5 in the air.

I did not like her in the first place because I thought her voice was a little too husky, but that night I could not stop starring at the opaque door of her room, observing that shapely silhouette moving to and fro behind and wondering what was her tale of woe.

As if I was enchanted, I kept going back to that bar every Sunday night.

Paris has this peculiar “je ne sais quoi” kind of temptation.

After leaving Paris last summer, I told everybody that I did not like her as I thought I would. Now my heart keeps longing to go back.


Suggested soundtrack: I Put a Spell On You by Nina Simone

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