There was always something of you in Paris. Bright, inviting cafes full of life juxtaposed by dark, narrow, and haunting alleyways. Tall grandiose structures gleaming in audacity and significance, and deep catacombs desperately seeking remembrance, inhabitants, voices, whispers, any disruption to the stillness and stagnation. Oysters and Chablis and ash-worn cheeses that tempted and teased the tongue before engaging your entire body in some erotic, mystic tantra, and baguettes and table wine on the grass in the park by the cemetery that took on the depth and glamour of the conversation through which they were consumed, entombed, appreciated. Maps and memories marked with museums and dingy apartments and stained-glass shrouded cathedrals and lichen-adorned gravestones.
Your beauty and mystery, your dark soul and bright smile. Your tenacious complexity, baby, was always what drew me in and pushed me away and made it so to this day, I’ll never forget
Paris or you.
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