Paris, Je t'aime

Paris, je t'aime is a vair, vair lovely foreign film that we started watching in French class today. It's composed of a series of short vignettes centered on love. Each vignette had different actors in it and was directed by a different person. It mentions various types of love: parental love, love and loss, weird relationships that make you tilt your head and say, "wtf?", language-barrier love, the kind of love between a husband who decides not to leave his wife after finding out she has terminal leukemia and re-falls in love with her, and something involving a mime. I've been thinking since I got home about what my vignette would look like if I were to direct one.
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It would take place in one of artsy arrondissements (boroughs) of Paris. A young woman, pretty. A young man, kind and charming. She's a journalist; he's an artist. Her articles and investigative journals make her content, but art is her passion. They assign her to interview street artists. They meet each other. He looks her in the eyes, genuinely willing to hand her her story. A smile spread across his face as he stops his world to dictate a well-mannered and well-meant "merci". Somehow, all her notes are lost and a follow up interview is arranged. She watches him work. The brush strokes show what he's learning, the colors show what he loves. "He's not perfect," she notices, "the painting lack depth and shadowing levels." But he's perfect to her.
A flashback.
Her childhood: smart, well-liked, pleasant-looking. But inwardly, she has no self-esteem. She classifies herself with people 20,000 leagues under the sea of her potential.
Back to the present.
He fits her.

He finishes his painting and turns to her. She snaps a shot of him with his masterpiece. He stays to talk. They talk for 20 minutes. "Is twenty minutes a long enough time period to fall in love?" she wonders. She accepts that it has to be, that she's crazy, that they're soul mates.
She walks away with a smile.
A day later, his art show. He sees her and the artsy group of people that surround him fade away. In a West Side Story type fading, radiant smiles are exchanged along with a few words. She gets a call from her editor: a new story, another job. She leaves and promises to return, knowing she can't.
A few months later, he contacts her editor, asking for her address. He shows up at her door, packed for a vacation, and tells her he's leaving for America. Art is calling him. To sculpt, to paint, to design.
A silence.
Then a kiss.
A different kiss, not like the kisses in the other vignettes. It's not a kiss of lust, of desperation, of secrecy. It's a kiss of true love. It's a kiss that understands and promises to return. But this kiss, unlike the false hope the woman gave the man, will keep its promise.
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My vignette would be about a couple who fall in love at first sight. Neither of them really believe in it beforehand, of course. But then, after meeting, they're changed. They stop doing ritualistic single-like things that they used to. They change for someone they may never see again, but that they're in love with.

Later Days
Peace
H

P.S. Is it better to know that someone like that is out there? Or is it better to forget about true love and settle into true like? I think I would rather know. I would rather know even if I could never be with that person. I think I would sleep better at night knowing I did something right, that there's someone out there fighting for me just as hard as I'm fighting for them.