Paris_Camille's Story
April 15, 1995. Paris. My grandmother delivered me herself in our apartment because the taxi got stuck in a strike — French taxis go on strike a lot.
24 years later, on April 15, 2019, I was sitting in a café across the Seine, trying to plan my birthday dinner, when I saw smoke. Notre-Dame was burning. Everyone in the café stood up. We watched the spire fall together. Strangers were holding hands. Someone behind me whispered, in English: 'It's like the world is grieving for you.'
I never told them it was my birthday. I just walked home through the crowds, lit a single candle on the windowsill, and thought:
'Cathedrals fall. People get born. Both things happen on the same day, every year, somewhere.'
24 years later, on April 15, 2019, I was sitting in a café across the Seine, trying to plan my birthday dinner, when I saw smoke. Notre-Dame was burning. Everyone in the café stood up. We watched the spire fall together. Strangers were holding hands. Someone behind me whispered, in English: 'It's like the world is grieving for you.'
I never told them it was my birthday. I just walked home through the crowds, lit a single candle on the windowsill, and thought:
'Cathedrals fall. People get born. Both things happen on the same day, every year, somewhere.'
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