I grew up with this Robert Doisneau photo in my grandmother's house, when she lived in Michigan. I remember always being attracted to it when I would visit her. When she moved to Florida, she passed the photo along to my father, who then hung it in the basement entertainment area of our home. My room was in the basement of our house so I frequented the area where it was on display. I saw it every day. I'd often times find myself sitting on the couch 'doing homework', and then realize I was starring at the photo hanging on the wall, swept away in a day dream; lost in foreign streets of a fantasy world I had built in the fine details of my imagination. Even today, when I think of love and of romance this photo is the image that appears vividly in the movie like memories of my conscious. I wonder if 'it' is as magical as I've made up in my head. Even if its not... [because I doubt it is] I know the love I have to give, is more quixotic than even the most creative of pens could write.
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