“Look alive,” he always said. How do I look alive when you make me feel so dead inside? Where did I go? Will I ever know how you slowly took pieces of joy out of me and called them stupid wastes of time and I believed you? It took over ten years, but almost all…
Car exhaust wafts as I squint at the golden ramparts, 14th century fortress no more. Smooth plane trees tunnel over Rue de la Ré, Early morning shopkeepers sweeping cares away. Cafe drinks, silverware clinks, Squeals from urban schoolyards, Echo in the cobblestoned alleys. Water under the bridge, On y danse.