_____ in Paris

We lived a secret life, hidden from your husband—a romance of furtive meetings and a future eternally postponed. We stole a week to be together in France; I still could never film us directly, but in the textures and details of the city, I captured the tragic absences of our affair, infinite in the shadows, impossible in the open. Years later, I found these grainy old videotapes—faded like memory, feelings raw but transformed—and composed a love letter to who we once were, what we could’ve been.