Point of view

After 5 wonderful days in Paris, I am heading myself back home. He was nice, warm, cool ... Paris. Yes, I was talking about him, about Paris.
When I am writing these words I am in the RER train going to the Charles de Gaulle Airport.

Next to me sits a nice lady who seems to have the same destination. The journey is short, about 20 minutes, so there I see no interest in starting a conversation with her.

Suddenly, the train stops for a long period of time in the middle of nowhere, nowhere called 'banlieue' by the French.
And I found this stop very appropriate to start chatting with my colleague. However, after a couple of breathless responses to my small talk questions, she puts her iPod earphones on ... so the conversation is over.

I believe this is good for me and bad for her. She doesn’t know what a good teller I am; she doesn’t know what she has just missed.
This is my story, my point of view. What about her point of view?

...

After a hard working week in Paris I am heading myself to Hamburg, to see my tall, blue eyes and blonde haired German boyfriend.
Hm... I just can wait to have him near me, to kiss him, to feel his power, to let him lick my whole body...

Next to me sits a person who seems to have the same destination. The journey is short, about 20 minutes, and I hope she will not bother me.

Suddenly, the train stops for a long period of time. Why does it stop? When it will start over? I am going to miss my flight and the wonderful weekend with my tall German love? But the man next to me ...yes, he was a man ... starts asking me some stupid questions.
I have to give him some answers, otherwise I may look rude. Ah ... he had just made a pause ... great. I put my iPod earphones on ... so his conversation is over.

Hm...it feels so good to listen some good music and prepare myself for a weekend full of passion with my blue eyes and blonde haired German...

Pour-qoui j'aime Paris...

Why I love Paris?
Is this a question? Definitely not!
Actually...it might be...if I have been a philosopher. However, I am not.
Today I'm just a normal guy who has arrived a few hours ago in Paris. I am here for like the 110th time. And it feels the same as ever: good...nice...warm...cool...it's Paris.
"Et ce difficille d'ecrire...."
Yes! It is incredible hard to put down my feelings about Paris in English. But today I will do it. Paris deserves to have its words written in English today.
So....why I love Paris...
After my arrival, I didn't have the time to feel why I love Paris. But I did! I've loved it every single minute. The first French words sounded in my ears ... "bonjour monsieur..." and the music came along.
Hm...I'm losing myself in endless reflection and I'm chasing myself away from any practical aspect of being in Paris.
But Paris is not practical. He isn't practical at all. Paris means feelings. Deep and intense feelings, which is what  I am doing right now. I am feeling Paris. Very deeply and extremely intense.
And it comes to me like a ray of light that has the guts to cast upon Paris. I love Paris for the feeling with whom
he dares to strike me every time I am here...