Run a mile (in the city of Lights that I love)

Put on my running shoes this morning again to try to reactivate the energy pump. The air is cold but a sun is shining down the street.
Running up the street up to the Sacré Coeur, bathing in the warm rays of a cold april morning.
Air is burning down in my lungs as I expelled heavy condensated clouds. Going up going up.
The streets of Paris are still half asleep and yet as usual a bit dirty.
Closer to the top of the hill, the sidewalks are still messay and filled with diverses pieces of garbage and dog shits.
As I run among the avenues, climbing up and down stairs, I see messages sprayed across the old walls of my city. Hard to decipher the elegant signature on a corner of an house or sometimes only sad to see some love thoughts filed with faults in violet rushed letters next to some street-art of old egyptian gods holding a kalashnikov.
Best of both world, dirt and beauty, cold and warm bathing light.
Still on the staircase running among tourists from all over the world taking pictures and looking up.

A couple in white wedding dress and black tuxedo are on the top under one of the lamplight.
He, a bit like Chow Yun Fat-emphasis on the FAT part., complete with sunglasses.
Her fragile and full of this grace that are always attached with asiatic women in a simple gown.
There is of course the photographer and the assistant taking a scarf from the girl, waiting for the good light to get the best pictures of Love.

She is cold and shivering in the arms of her loved one. I catch my breath and smile at them.
They are here for the image, for the legend, for the pictures, for a dream that I know does not shine as much as they think it does.
And yet they are also part of the magic that makes that city works, despite of all the rights, and thanks to all the wrongs. It is the reflection of the love burning in the eyes of others that remind you also of why you love her too.
My city.
Running throughout her arteries, in the sunlight.