Finding the bridge was easy, we just asked a taxi driver.
Finding a free space to attach the lock was a little trickier, which, explains a lot about why Paris is considering a ban on the practice; all those little locks weigh a lot, and the integrity of the bridge is being compromised by the weight.
Nonetheless, Mom found a space, and, her lock was firmly attached.
I have no idea what prayer she said as she held the key to that lock in her hands on the bridge that day. Or, more likely, what conversation she had with Dad, but, it seemed to bring her peace as we left the bridge to continue our stroll along the riverbank, and that was worth the price of the few euros that we paid for the lock.
The lock may last on that bridge for the rest of her lifetime, or, it may fall victim to the bolt-cutters well before then. Either way, the love that my parents shared is immortalized.
Although, we didn't really need a love lock to prove that.
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