December 29, 2011

Never Enough Midnight in Paris

I wish we could spend a rainy week in Bruges, walking down the street and seeing the windowpanes and canals like we're on some grand adventure. It would be lovely to smell your citrusy, sea salty scent and hold your hands, your hands that feel like powdered talc. You would lie your head on my lap and look at me and I would adore you with the longest kiss. My kiss wouldn’t make you breathless, it would make you sigh a thousand breaths. We would celebrate at midnight, wandering into a tavern where we would dance with the locals to ABBA.

I think of the party filled with candles and confetti and how you made me feel like the only person in the room with your charming eyes. I felt beautifully stupefied by you on the winding steel stairs in your fancy loft. Every moment felt like La Belle Époque, we made music with pots and pans, we forgot and it was honest.

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“You look ridiculous if you dance You look ridiculous if you don't dance So you might as well dance.” ― Gertrude Stein

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