I think there are immortal cities, years giving advances to the humanity, legends of heroic origins and their triumphs over the defeats fill them with a spirit beyond the bricks and stones. So in every city there is a bit of Athens surviving in the shape of some columns; a piece of Rome in the discourse of a lawyer; echoes of London in the clothes that still we use after the Victorian age; a New York melody when every building aspires to go the farther into the sky; in Peru that city is Qosqo (Cusco/Cuzco) the center of every road and every thought, it’s not the oldest but it’s the most meaningful. Of course Rome, Qosqo, Athens, those cities aren’t what physically they were but at the same time they are still alive because the spirit in them couldn’t die, finding its way through other cities.
Paris is one of those cities, I have never been there, but at the same time I have been there across the eyes and words of the ones that got caught by their spirit in already several centuries. And as I know it the sad attacks of yesterday aren’t nothing more that the hate of people with sickness in their souls against a universal symbol of freedom and humanity; they are condemned to failure because Paris is immortal and already there is a bit of Paris in every place on the world where there are desires of justice.