I Wrote This In The Moment

Authored By:

Nicole B.
Photo for blog post I Wrote This In The Moment


"Where's your favorite place to be?", Francis asked.

[Three weeks Later]

There's something fascinating about looking outside the window during long train rides. It's the thrill of expectation about a soon-to-be-discovered place. It's the eagerness to capture as many images as possible of the landscape that fades into the distance. It's the irony that in a train, you are nowhere but everywhere. You travel through many places, but you're never in a specific place. 

"Here", I replied. 

It was more of a self-admission than a response, since Francis wasn't next to me. 

"Here," I said much clearer against the foggy window. 

Outside, there were rolling grasslands. Nothingness. The bareness of it all lured me into a daydream: a crisp spring morning. Me in a white sun dress. A book in hand; Ivy's Edge of the Ocean playing. A pink chapeau  to guard my eyes from the sun. A yellow blanket. And of course, baggue-


I was slammed back into reality when we were suddenly enclosed in a tunnel. Oliver sleeps and Sophie's reads The Friend. I try to go back to my daydream, but it's too dark to envision light. Ah, the thrill of expectation.


I wonder whether these streets whisper secrets to each other at night. Narrow and empty, yet sprouting a variety of stores. A boutique Mexican restaurant peaks at the end of the Zebra Crossing; does it gossip about its visitors with the Indian Bistro before the traffic light? I wonder what they say about my friends and I whilst we float between bars. Are we effortless butterflies, our concealed excitement waiting to be set free underneath strobe lights? Or maybe we are noisy bees, laughing and clucking. Squealing and jumping. Falling. We want so much of Strasbourg within the three days that we're here. We don't have forever, so we cherish these moments infinitely. Savoring, not just tasting. Dancing, not just moving. Leaping, not just jumping. We'll take it all with us. All with-

I've never been struck by such a beauty.

She's living proof of Faith. Unshakable, inexplicable Faith. A mountain of glory, She tells Her stories on her bronze walls. Above Her entrance, there stands The 12 Disciples and Jesus Christ sharing their Last Supper. On the right corner, She recollects the Resurrection of Christ. Every inch of Her was covered in Her history, each Bronze figure representing a Biblical character. A decade on, and Notre Dame remains radiant. Unfazed by the harsh wind, fortified by our awe, there she stands. Une vraie belle. A testament to how deep man's faith can drive him into creating magnificence. 



We're strolling down these streets. These streets that don't listen to our stories because they are soaked with their own experiences. These bars that don't lure us because they've had their share of exotic nationalities. These places that yawn at our awe. 

We miss Strasbourg dearly, and I have a feeling that she misses us too.