I shall die in Paris

I shall die in Paris by Cesar Vallejo

I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm, 
On a day I already remember. 
I shall die in Paris-- it does not bother me-- 
Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn. 

Today is the second time this poem by has come my way.
The first time I was moved by it, shared it with a friend, and then kind of forgot about it.

The poem continues, but this is the verse that struck a chord again today when it arrived on my doorstep. I got to thinking about how life brings us gifts. Four years ago I was given the opportunity to live in Paris. Although I had never been, somehow I thought I would like it. I quit my job in big pharma, accepted a new, less secure future and moved to Paris. You might think that was risky. But come on, it's Paris. How bad could it be?

And for those of you who don't know me, I loved it. Love it. Even now when I can see a bit beneath its knickers Paris continues to enchant.

So thanks to whoever realised that I was still unsure about our future - Paris and mine., and sent me the poem again. Apparently I am meant to stay. And live. And die. Maybe in a rainstorm.