Paris, will you take me as I am? I am not who I was. You are no longer familiar. Yet, I come back to you to lick my wounds and walk hand in hand with my sister. We will walk for one purpose. Walk until we can no longer walk. Ponder the future. Ride bicycles as we search for gardens. For flowers still in bloom. Colors that cannot possibly exist. For the fiction. But who will tend to the old man with a broken heart while I am crossing the Atlantic?
There is a clearing. But the burden doesn't lift. It is merely a glimpse into what might be. The possibility that I choose is a dwelling without a roof. I tell myself that is because I want an unfettered view of the stars. But it is really because I am not sure I am ready for the stability a roof brings. She always told me that I was honey to the bees. I mistakenly thought she meant something else. I was her honey. She was my bee.
beautiful!
ReplyDelete