There is something universal here. Watch his hands. Listen to what he isn’t saying in those calling tones.
Even if you don’t follow french much, You can get the gist of what he is trying to muster up. And we’ve all been there. Standing in front of the playground slide that used to be so huge. Looking through love letters that once shone like diamonds but now look more like sandpaper.
Maybe, like the singer, you stood in front of the door to a once-familiar place and found only unfamiliar cracks and chipped paint. Memories of a time now gone rushing through you, you laughed at how silly it was to think it would last.
“We were young. We were foolish.”
Maybe this time in our lives is a meme. Maybe our efforts towards self-discovery are just the phases our glassy-eyed parents said they were, and in the end we will suit up and slack off 40 hours a week until that pension sends us off to a golden retirement.
But goddamnit I hope that doesn’t happen to you.
So listen to a man say goodbye. To her. To Montmartre. To days spent trading paintings for food and hovering over stoves for warmth. To a piece of himself — poor, exhausted, starving, happy.
And decide for yourself if it was worth it.
(Song recommendation by Jon Johnson)