damnitarmand:

Rain will always remind me of Paris, and, in some ways, Louis. For Louis, it reminds of the way that those beads of water clung to cloak and silken strands of ebony hair, lovely in a secretive, melancholy manner, with skin like pale stone washed clean by the storm. I elaborated on this somewhat here.

What Paris reminds me of by extension, however, is by far more complex. That city is awash with memories for me, so much so that separating past and present becomes a monumental task of concentration whenever I am there.