French

 

It was my prison cell;

Breeder of misery

Cultivating heartbreak and

Solitude.

I was a claustrophobic soul,

A bleeding heart,

Tethered to a town

Draining and depressive,

Who ached for home

And learned

The destructiveness of distance.

And yet,

It was postcard prettiness;

A chocolate box of

Tuffeau truffles

Snow-iced or sun-drizzled

And delicious vistas

To tempt and treat.

It set mind and pen racing,

Nurturing new thoughts

And unfamiliar feelings.

I was a blossoming soul,

Undertaking

An emotional education,

And uncovering

Independence.

Emma H, age 26, 17/02/2017


 

I had a love-hate relationship with the picturesque but sleepy French town of Saumur during the 7 months that I lived there. I fell helplessly in love with the her charm, the panoramic views, the limestone buildings, the river Loire… but I often found myself bored, lonely and homesick. Many of my days were spent frequenting the cinema or sitting in the sunshine on the hillside overlooking the fairytale castle and town below, writing feverishly in my Diary: my crucial Year Abroad companion. That said, Saumur is the perfect destination for a short, cultural break  – and home to some wonderful wines! All photos are my own, depicting the photogenic town in various weathers and seasons 🙂

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2 thoughts on “French

  1. I really like this poem, and your accompanying photos. I lived for two years in Sunderland and whilst I loved the city, which was a total culture shock for me, I was extremely homesick too. So much so, I keep a running countdown for the number of days until I could return home! So this poem has much resonance for me. Thank you 😊

    Liked by 1 person

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