NeigeaParis5am, 18gennaio24

It was a quiet evening.
Or maybe just one of those nights that seem quiet — you start at the usual bar and somehow end up in a club, without really knowing how.

This photo reminds me of the air in Paris.
Of my usual nights, wandering its streets, with my closest friend by my side.

It was 5 in the morning when I took it, just outside the club i was it — that club beneath the Arc de Triomphe, on the Champs-Élysées.

It brings back the feeling of winter in Paris.
A new perspective on the city.
It was the first time I saw snow falling over Paris.
The first white silence after the noise of the club.

The club is underground, so coming up to the surface and seeing everything covered in snow… it felt almost magical.
Waiting for a taxi, with snow falling slowly around us, felt even more so.

It was a night like many others.
One of those nights when you dance until dawn and go home knowing tomorrow will be just another day.
But that snow changed everything.
It made the return softer, slower, more beautiful.

The snow-covered Arc de Triomphe…
It felt like a memory being created in real time.

Now I think about the past. The future. About home.
And now that I’m far from Paris… I think of Paris.

I think about all those nights when it felt like the city was ours —
as if it had welcomed us with its lights and silences, with half-full glasses and nearly empty streets.

I remember the kind of cold that didn’t bite, but awakened something.
The uncertain footsteps on damp sidewalks, the conversations that made no sense but felt like revelations at the time.

Paris has that power: it makes you feel alive, even at five in the morning,
even when you’ve danced too much, talked too much, lived too much — all in a single night.

And that snow… it was a pause.
As if the city, for just a moment, was saying: slow down.
Look at where you are. Look at who you are right now.

Now that I’m far away, I understand how much those moments meant.
Paris isn’t just a city.
It’s a feeling that stays with you.
A reflection that follows you, wherever you go.

And sometimes, all it takes is a photo, a memory, a night like that —
to go back, even if just for a moment.

Everyone has their place.
Everyone has their memory.
Everyone has their own feelings.
That’s what Fralesyeux is all about.

I chose For Me, Formidable by Charles Aznavour because it represents how I felt in that moment.
On that Parisian night, amid the snow and soft lights, the song seemed to perfectly reflect my state of mind. Light, yet with a subtle melancholy that I wasn’t trying to hide. Each note resonated like a memory slowly fading, but, however faint, it remained inside me.

I also felt full of life, enjoying the carefree nature of Parisian nights.

Its melody, floating between a smile and nostalgia, captures the same sensation of Fralesyeux — where the beauty isn’t so much in the moment you’re living, but in how you remember it. That sense of irreversible change, the awareness that nothing will ever be the same again, yet everything, in the end, is perfect just as it is.

That feeling doesn’t have a precise name.
It’s made of small, intertwining details: the smell of wet asphalt, the yellow glow of a streetlamp, a reflection in a taxi window, the muffled sound of footsteps in the snow.
It’s the moment when the city stops being just a backdrop and becomes a part of you.

Fralesyeux is born right there.
In that exact point where the gaze doesn’t just observe — it feels.
When the outside and the inside touch.
When a photo isn’t just a photo, but a way to hold on to something words can’t explain.

It’s a fragile and powerful state.
It’s melancholy without sadness, presence within absence, intensity in a moment that could seem ordinary —
but never is, not for you.

Because that snow, that light, that grey sky… they will never return in quite the same way.
And you will never again be the same person who lived them.
So you take a photo. You write. You remember.
You try to capture that thing you can’t quite describe, but that runs through you.

Fralesyeux is this:
an emotional archive, a shelter, a lens.
It’s the gaze that seeks poetry in the real.
It’s the urge to slow down, to catch a detail, a gesture, a light.
It’s what remains when everything else has slipped away.

And deep down, everyone has a fragment like that.
A night. A city. A person. A feeling.
Something that, even from far away, keeps you close to who you truly are.

And every time you rediscover it — even in just a single photo —
you’re there again.
You’re yourself again.

FOR ME, FORMIDABLE .