Write...Edit...Publish...my story, Love Locked in Paris - with photos.

Hello everyone!

I didn't get to post last week - was so busy, but I'm sure you coped!

Pont des Arts -
No wonder the locks
caused the wire to
collapse!

It's time for Write...Edit...Publish again. On the third week of each month writers post to a prompt. June, is considered the most romantic month of the year, so deciding on a prompt was a no brainer. I haven't come up with a new story this time as I've been frantically editing my manuscript.

The lock system in Paris is under threat due to the recent collapse of a section at the Pont des Arts. I thought I'd resuscitate my story Love Locked in Paris which I wrote when I returned from a 2012 trip to Paris where our hotel was in view of the love-locked bridge beside Notre Dame. Perfect position to dream up stories...especially about the lovers who leave a token of their commitment on the bridges of Paris.


I hope you enjoy my story into which I've inserted some photographs I took at the time.

Sunset over Notre Dame

Love Locked in Paris

The  most romantic day of my life is here. Can I take it all in? Notre Dame's aged bricks and soaring buttresses being kissed by sunset – the lock-filled  bridge that joins the Left Bank and Right Bank – lovers sharing wine and baguettes beside the Seine. Ooh la la!

My candy pink dress with its French Poodle embroidery flares around my knees. Pink satin 4-inch heels complement my black net stockings. I still clutch the tiny posy of white roses which my darling Mitch handed to me on the steps of the *Mairie. Their scent envelopes me as I walk arm in arm with my beautiful man feeling oh so French.

Mitch, so handsome in his black suit, kisses the white gold and diamond ring on my finger – could this day get any better?

‘Let’s do it!’ he says.

We walk to our chosen spot midway across the bridge. Mitch reaches into his pocket and flips the copper lock in his hands.

We both gaze at the token as if it were made of solid gold.

‘I had it engraved,’ he says proudly.

I wrap my arms around his waist and read the inscription – ' Capt'nFlynn, Mastarata  25-June-2010’.

Yes, this day could get better after all. 'You used our special names!'

We loop the lock over the wire and click it shut. A passing tourist snaps our photo.

‘Let’s come back every year to celebrate our wedding anniversay,’ I say.

‘I can’t think of any better way to celebrate our love.’ 

We kiss to seal the deal.

☁☁☁

As I cross the bridge to Notre Dame I think to myself how apt it is that the skies are all smudgy, not that brilliant Parisian grey-blue of four years ago.

I hold my breath as I search through the multitude of love locks. It's a wonder the bridge doesn't collapse under this weight of metal, I think to myself.

Finally, I find it - still bright and shiny in the gloom. I pick it up and rub my fingers over our pet names.

Ironic.

I attach the tiny plastic envelope to the lock handle, then I sob for our fractured love.

We were meant to be together, forever. 

Darling Mitch

I could have trusted you instead of showering you with jealousy.

I could have travelled with you instead of putting my job first.

I could have forgiven you for your indiscretion instead of throwing you out without listening to you.

Your Dearest Polly

I stroll along the Seine, then order mussels in garlic cream sauce at what was our favourite restaurant in the Latin Quarter. When the attentive waiter brings the bowl of dark, half open shells with their enticing pink flesh, pours my wine and places the bread basket before me, I cannot eat or drink. I come to the realisation that it is futile to retrace steps from the past; those steps have been obliterated with time.

The 17^th Century hotel is not at all romantic without Mitch. Climbing the winding stairs is just a chore. Surely they could install a lift, I think sourly. 

The fifth floor at last. The Romantic Room with the etched carvings on the ancient door. I take a deep breath and study the ancient black key which seems as long as my arm. 

The door opens before I find the slot. I step back in fright, clasping my chest and breathing in jerky breaths.

‘Mitch! What are you doing here?’

‘Same as you, I imagine.’

‘But –‘.

‘I read your letter.’

‘Then you  -‘.

'I saw our photo album.

'I needed reminding of the happiest day of my life.'

‘I’m sorry sweetheart. It wasn’t you who needed reminding  – it was me. I’ll do better. What I did was despicable, but...will you take me back? I'm so sorry. I love you...I love you...’

I entwine my arms around his neck and soak his beautiful white shirt with my tears.

Paris, the golden city.

‘I love you Mitch. I don’t want a life without you. I've missed you so...’

It feels so right to be in his arms where I belong – could this day get any better? 

Yes, it is about to.

☁☁☁

*Mairie (Town Hall, where secular wedding ceremonies take place)



©DeniseCovey2014

WORDS: 700

I hope you enjoyed my story and photos. If you'd like to post an entry - story, poem, photos...to the ROMANCE prompt, you have until Friday. Sign up on the linky in my sidebar or visit WRITE...EDIT...PUBLISH. I'd love to have you join us!