Paris is the city where I breath every day with my heart. It’s easy, because there’s love, smiles and sweet words everywhere.


In my home street, and literally IN the street, there lives a poor guy (un SDF) who’s often hungry and drunk. 


Every time I pass, he kind of wakes up, his eyes smile and he says: Bonjour, ma princesse! 


The other day he asked me in an elegant, Molierish manner:


* Your name is not Valentine, is it? (Vous ne vous appelez pas Valentine?)

* No. (Non.)

* That’s what I thought. A princess got to have a princess name. (C’est ce que je me disais. Une princesse doit avoir un nom de princesse.)






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