Sunday, March 23, 2014


Thursday marked the first day of spring and it must be a relief after the snowfalls and the cold on the other end of the Atlantic. Here, the weather hasn't changed significantly since I came, much like the things we talk about, much like the things we don't.

He brought me to Paris to tell me something other than "I love you", whatever it is (or was) he couldn't say with the distance and the sea between us. I never thought I'd stay this long but as days turn to weeks and months the memory of New York gradually transforms to one from a seemingly different life. The smells and the colors become less tangible, more like the scattered traces of a dream.

On some afternoons we walk together by the river banks, my hand a feather in his and I try to imagine them as definitive moments of a fleeting youth. The lilac of the sky reflects in the water, tomorrow this light will last a little longer.

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