City of love

"The city of love" people called that city that was becoming hers, piece by piece. Or maybe it was the other way round, she was becoming the city's. Either way, it made no difference, the city, the people, had welcomed her well enough, despite her shortcomings in French language and her clear air of foreigner. The legend, the aura that enveloped the city, had been another matter, however. The city of love was intent on reminding her that she was alone and that there was no way to tell if she would always be. It was announced on the Champs de Mars, where couples posed in romantic attitudes with the Eiffel tower behind them, and on the Pont Neuf, that had become the place where all the locks from Paris went to die after they had been evicted from the Pont des Arts. That always made her think about how love can wreck you, as it almost tore a bridge down. And then there was always the question.

-Et ton mari?

No, she didn't have a husband, thank you very much. Or even the other question.

-As tu des enfants?

Children, the last thing she needed, but something that seemed to be a mark of social status in the city of love. A city of love that was only such for those who had already found it, but not for those who had been seeking, knowingly or not. She walked around the city, sad eyes over the river, a river that had her heart and had her pain. A river where the love went to die as the locks fell as they rusted away from the bridges.