Bring Me Back to Paris.

"I don't belong in Paris." I told myself. I didn't want to belong.

My first day in Paris, introductions without giving my name. I was questioned whether I was human or not. Who asks that?

Then I realized.

Paris is where things happen.  So I answered.  I know I'm human because I bleed.  Paris is where I fell in love and where I found my fear of falling in love, because love is the closest thing we have to magic.

And Im thinking about Paris like clouds think about 9.  Before 7, 8, 9 forcing us to hold funeral services for 9's death.

That was the day I went shopping for Mr. Nelson and bought him bricks and duct tape because I was too lazy not to be a tourist.

My sixth week in Paris I realized who took this journey with me.  You're all amazing, and I'm just an ammature with a computer.

A direct order to rock out like you just got your first kiss turned into writing one word.

Then two.

I remember my first day in Paris.  I wanted to punch you in the face the second I saw you walk in.  There was a reason I didn't see you all summer. I wanted it to stay that way.

In Paris I got high on permanent marker fumes telling me the main idea was Promise me Promises or Loneliness tended his return to where he could be.

Paris taught me how to live and how to laugh. But no one commented on my How To prompt anyway.

Which brings me to the sad chair I found in the middle of Paris' open plains, or in other words-- the internet.



Week 13 in Paris. My fellow Paris adventurer wrote, "To the dickweed scientist with a telescope that decided that pluto wasn't a planet; screw you." You inspired me to write my true feelings. To my homecoming date last year: screw you.

My journey in Paris is almost coming to a close now and I don't know what to do. Robert Frost still makes me so jealous.

And I don't know how to write poetry.

I found myself in Paris;

my fears, what I love.

Just take me back.