Why people swoon over the French

Two Words: Carla Bruni

The first lady of France (Nicolas Sarkozy was a smart, smart, smart man for putting a ring on it) , the lady who once bared her skin as a whiplashing, energetic young model, and the lady who chooses monogamy like she chooses her breakfast - one day at a time. She is a feminist/singer/songwriter/beauty who I adore as a woman; a straight woman, although I am beginning to wonder.


The French language has always brought tears to my eyes. Granted, in my eyes, if I see a pin drop with the grace of a dancing angel, I'd cry. I seem to get emotional not at sad memories or events (unless, of course, the event is just tragic), but rather I well with tears over beautiful, pure moments. Listening to Miss Bruni's newest album, especially the song Quelqu'un M'a Dit, and seeing her whimsically swoon the lyrics like liquid poetry as she gracefully and tactfully strums her acoustic makes me cry like a lonely girl who once had, and lost, love... hoping that someday it will come back, lightly tapping on her bedroom door.

Her grace and essence makes me want to think before I speak. She makes me want to pace things more slowly, to breathe in the epitome of moments more than I already do. I never want to miss out on the love she lost and left. I want to be in between sacrifices love makes. The moments the are cherished, but have a silent understanding that they will never meet again.

I think the French have a better grip on pain and truth, both coinciding matters. I believe I should've been born European because I don't believe in happiness around the clock. I believe in feeling, and if sadness is the emotion I must feel, then so be it. I am truthful to the ways of the heart, and the feeling of never being truly attainable to anyone, or by anyone.


So you can feel what we all should tap into every blue moon or two.