Paris, Je T'aime last night -- a scattering of short vignettes just a few minutes long each, bundled into a full-length film, designed (I suspect) for the attention deficient among us. (That would be me. Long week.)
Each short film leaves its own sweet moments and memories behind, each one of them bearing the impression of the arrondissement in which it resides, and something about the juxtaposition of all those very different stories about this one very same thing called love brought home the importance of that essential ingredient that clears the path and makes room for it. Any of it. All of it.
Courage enough to say the first word, to reach across that great distance for the first time ever and touch the unknown. To respond. And, later, when love missteps and wounds as it almost always surely will (human beings being the oafs that we are) courage enough to see the wrong in ourselves, to voice it. To be met, if we're lucky, by the generous heart, also the offspring of courage. To be met, if we're lucky, by love.