few days ago I saw a picture. It was a strange weekend, I spent partly relieved, somewhat battered, too, with friends, books with pictures. shared pain that has not gone , because that will hurt me for long and in many different ways. And I saw a picture.
I have seen many of that city. I was not able to recognize the Empire State and now distinguish each building. I listened to Billie Holiday, Billy Joel and Frank Sinatra all the time. I decided to go to travel to Paris alone and because you have to go to Lyon to see when to Matthew Noel. And because Paris means other things: a restatement and another flight. I know what that will mean Paris.
A denial, for starters.
why this image made me sad. There is a woman. Dress in black. Watch a showcase. Nothing more. Carrying a bag that has the logo: "I love New York." Seems tired or tired I guess. And in the end I do not know if this is what the picture shows or what I saw. Or the part of me that wanted to be herself and stand in front of a window that displays vintage clothing, because there do not know what to Jane Eyre, and carry a bag I love New York because I have entered in one of those tacky souvenir shops for tourists and have bought something y. ..
I tasted defeat, the photo. Because I know I'll go to Paris wanting to be elsewhere. And I know exactly what I would do in that other part and I will not ask permission. And that's why I will not because I do not want no for an answer, it would be the third time, because I'm not in the mood for it does not hurt.
Although things never go as intended.
I do not know who she is, but it has accompanied me since then. I learned the light of memory, the shape of the two bags, window bills, soil stains, how someone else put a bow tie, stripes of marble.
Just after I sent a message view. For that I wait, with a hot coffee and a cinnamon muffin.
He told me, he was very happy.
Now I just cross your fingers. And so on.
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