Can't you see my darling Janet your my only love. Through snow till dust if lust takes me let it be replaced with emotional trust. So let go of your rage for this is our day. While we let our passions collide knowing our feelings for each other will never hide. Woe be the times before I found my mind. Without companionship there's loneliness and without sadness there can be no sorrow. Only grief when we lose someone we love. In a world full of espionage there's always borrowed spies so in truth there's no lies.

You and I are the only ones here
There is no awkward silence
It is just you
I am invisible
Your peripheral vision obscured by abhorrence
There is no anger, no willingness to invoke, yell or fight
Just a vicious battle within myself to convince you I am human

You are free, but they have freedom.
You are free to fly, but they have the sky.
You are free to fish, but they have the sea.
You are free to swim, but they have sharks.
Are you for them, or are they for you?
You are free to think, but ideas are theirs.
You are free to dance, but the song is theirs.
You are free to wish, but the choice is theirs.
You are free to bloom, but the color is theirs.
You are free to live, but life is theirs.
You are free to die, but death is theirs.

The last three weeks have been a seemingly endless series of welcome parties, get-togethers, receptions, meet-and-greets and cocktail parties - every kind of cheesy or ostentatious soirée my Grandmère can throw together, she’s dragged me to. It’s hard to match her energy.

“You have to meet people,” she insists, “and they have to meet YOU.”
“And why?” I asked, eloquently, but there’s no use resisting - she’s tireless.

The Prime Minister of France - met him. The mayor of Paris, met him, the CEOs of Paribas, L’Oréal, TotalEnergies, AXA, met them, the ministers of the economy, interior and foreign affairs - met ‘em. The US ambassador to France, met him.

In the play “My Fair Lady,” Eliza, meeting people frantically at the races, repeats “How do you do,” over and over and over to great comedic effect. That’s how I feel at these parties, “Enchanté, enchanté, enchanté, enchanté, enchanté.” I say, turning in circles. I’ve met Emmanuel Macron before, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing him again soon. I haven’t met his wife though - I’d love to ask her about that slap.. hhmm.

At these events she’s made sure that I’ve met anyone who’s anyone at Université Paris Cité. Is that surprising? No, because that’s how crazy-lady operates. “You meet everyone, eye-to-eye,” she lectures, “you have to get out of your bubble, and experience the world as interesting,”

That’s her favorite saying these days. “I don’t HAVE a bubble,” I replied, defensively, but she’s left the room - she’s never still. She seems to know we’re on the clock, that once med-school starts, (in September) I’m going to be all about that.

It’s Monday morning. I’ve been at the Shangri-La hotel pool, where we have full privileges, and I’m coated, like a potato, head to foot, with SPF 50 sunscreen - when who shows up?
Peter (my bf). “You’re early!” I say, not at all displeased, but I’m SO conscious of my tacky skin and chemical smell that I face-palm him as he comes in for a snog.
EEuuww. I can’t make-out with a guy when I’m all greased up.
“5 minutes,” I assured him, heading for the shower.
“I’ll join you,” he offered.
“Well, ok,” I chuckle.
.
.
Songs for this:
Better Days by NEIKED, Mae Muller & Polo G
This Girl by Kungs & Cookin' On 3 Burners
Cake By The Ocean by DNCE  [E]

There is no doubt I've been around
For years now though I've lost count
From here to there then back to here
I have all these missing years

Was I abducted by aliens
Beamed me up to scrub my brains
Looking for important stuff
Finding out there isn't much

Or perhaps in a comma
Where the early eighties is a goner
I spend my days in the way of wrestling
With where it went, I'm only guessing

I've racked my brains thinking back
Here one minute, gone the next
One thing I find that's much too clear
I have all these missing years

I really do hate to admit it
But my excess has seen no limits
You never get those brain cells back
And here is where I tend to lack

I find it hard to be conclusive
With all the excuses that I uses
From the Weather to Brain ******* Zombies
I use whatever excuses suit me

No way could it be old age
Where most my memories get misplaced
I know that they're somewhere round here
The reason for all of these missing years