Paris Was Mine.

I met Paris on Tuesday.

We were categorically strangers.

And that first day was so thick you could catch the excitement and unsurity on your tongue like raindrops. 

And there was a thirst for the unknown that was beautifully unsettling.

At first the map seemed almost more important than the view.

Surrounded by humans that walked through static with painted faces and glazed eyes; desperate for the truth. 

We were all tourists in a place we did not understand.

But Paris became the map of my heart; 

something unspokenly captivating just waiting to be discovered. 

I tore at the edges wanting more, but never fully satisfied.

I was so helplessly drawn in by the unkind and honest lips of this dangerous place. 

And the words...they were all I wanted.

The sky was red with rain. 

And it poured out the words they could never figure out how to say.

Because they never sounded quite right in the sun. 

That sky was perfect.

Stained with memories that turned into cosmic masterpieces as they danced through my veins and across my tongue.

I was finding myself for the first time. And it scared me. But it was so beautiful I never wanted to stop.

We were endless.

And it was endless. It seemed.

But what goes up comes down. 

And despite what Paris told you, the sky is actually blue. 

And the painful truth, is that it is all ending. 

Everything ends. 

Even Paris.

And as much as I wanted Paris to be infinite, there weren't enough words in my lungs that could keep her.