The following is an excerpt from The Children of Aphrodite, Section 1: Barcelona. Rome. Paris. The first section of The Children of Aphrodite is available here on Amazon.
France used to be celebrated with roses. Flowers loomed across their grand gardens in bloom. People came from all the corners of the world to see the flowers. Every shop corner bloomed with bouquets. In plastic pots, assortments, both complex and monochromatic, waited for men on bicycles to reach out for them, pick them up, and bring them home to their wives who stood speechless.
Those days were over.
In Paris, flowers were no longer a symbol of love. They were a symbol of loss. No longer did they take the breath away of women. They were used to commemorate the men, women, and children, that could no longer take breath. They stood at the foot of the Eiffel Tower where it stood on three legs, one leg always under construction. They buried the opera house that no longer heard the sopranos or the altos. With the opera house stripped of its ceiling and the statues standing massacred, it no longer served as a place that brought music to France. The flowers were left on street corners and stoplight intersections. Their stems were left in the fencing of the bridges, and placed in the hook of every lock that was left by lovers who wanted their love to be remembered. Now, Paris only remembered the ones who were gone. The flowers were everywhere. In a place that used to believe that love was forever, the flowers reminded everyone that everything was temporary.
Nobody wanted to see the flowers anymore.
The first section of The Children of Aphrodite is available here on Amazon.