11

Today we merely went to a cemetery, though not just any cemetery. Paris has a wide selection of graveyards, all designed like small villages with avenues and streets and towering tombs resembling beautiful buildings, and they all house three or four well-known names. I requested to Nicolas that he take us to the cemetery where Oscar Wilde was buried. Though he looked at me strangely, laughed and had no idea who Oscar Wilde is, he agreed. So, being that it lies on the outskirts of the city, it was a long journey, but well worth it in my opinion.
Ségoléne, Nicolas’s girlfriend, accompanied us and we all searched tirelessly for the grave, which lied all the way in the back. Luckily, a map was offered, though the small winding streets remained confusing. Finally, we found it.
It is hard to miss—covered in smudged lipstick, the tomb sticks out quite well. As an ode to his words, people all around the world come to kiss his grave. I thought it was wonderful.