There are times when I want to write so much in this blog, and then I stop and wonder if its right that I share these thoughts so publicly. I don’t always talk about the day to day people because I want to protect their privacy, or mine… but there are other times when doing this is all that feels right, and it is the only way I can make sense of what is happening. I’m not sure if it’s a diary, it is select, and no so frequent… but it is what is I guess… as the title says these are just ‘Fractured thoughts’. I wanted to write about my birthday, not the presents I got or who remembered or forgot… but because it was the first time I’d ever had one without her.
It wasn’t really too sad, I was upset the night before, but on the day I just wanted to know she was there somehow. I went to Paris and stayed in a rooftop apartment opposite the Eiffel tower. It was small, and had been owned for over 40 years by my friend since before she was married, or moved to other countries. It was filled with books and pictures from times gone by, and it felt so right. We arrived late, and just as she said, if you opened the bathroom windows you could see the spotlight from the tower stretch out across the night sky, circling the buildings like an elegant urban lighthouse.  We sat on the ledge and drank watered down wine, and smoked cigarettes. It was mild, and the air echoed with the shouts and laughter of bank holiday parties…..  lightening flickered through the clouds, but no thunder or rain, just natural fireworks for us and her….
Was she there? I never understand how I think it might be – this idea of a spirit. I hoped she was, because it was all she ever wanted,…. to live….. to see these things. I hung my legs over so they felt the breeze, cars rattled by and the noise of life was all around, and I felt alive. It was better than any party, being drunk in a bar….. I was silent, and myself, and I felt so lucky to be there and see a city like this, and I knew I wouldn’t forget turning 33. I sat and tried to remember every detail, every dog bark, every flicker in the clouds, the humidity, the man opposite below, sitting in his apartment alone lit by his television. I felt the years that had been lived under the roof where I sat, and the energy of the lives that buzzed in the apartment block below. Paris is full of extremes for me…. Happiness, sadness, a place to run away to… a place to run away from. The last time I was there I was the happiest I had been in a long time, and she was still alive… I took one of the truest portraits of myself, exactly as I was, no costumes or makeup… me at 32, feeling well and peaceful in myself. A year later I was back, and she was gone, my face scarred from my accident in June, and now marked from the last 3 months of rashes and spots from stress over her loss. But in the darkness I was still me, I was still her daughter, I just wish I could have shared my drink and squeezed her hand that night, and told her that I loved her out loud, instead of under my breath, like I do everyday.
I’m behind as usual, and the band shoot is finished, I will upload the behind the scenes pictures, and the finished shots very soon… but for now I’m actually in China and it’s been a long hard day. There has been black rain for hours and I am marooned in my hotel room. I’m glad I wrote this now, it’ll mean nothing to most, but as much as I knew I wouldn’t forget that evening, I wanted to make sure the details weren’t lost….. the reason I started this in the first place…

.