Paris

I call out your name in the dead of the night, willing you to reappear from the flight that sent you hurtling to the furthest place from my heart.

In a dream, I asked you about the girl in Paris.

You denied it all, but I was there.

Summer air. Ferris wheel. I had leaned against the wall, no longer dancing in the strobe lights. You were bathed in the evanescence of it all.

And now the ground blurs as my horizon fades to black, a constellation of memories consuming me whole.

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