Among the art of dramatically stained coffee napkins, ***** plates and cheap fashion Magazines, she lay sleeping. Hugged by the lazy corner edge of a moth-eaten sofa bed.

'Paris I love you', it's what it said on her t-shirt, but the talking in her sleep was nice. There was Something about the way she tripped over the English language, she knew so well.

Here it was. Us.
The cinematic picture of immature love trying it's best to claw back real. Her porcelain face highlighted just enough by sun and glitter. If my eyes were shut, I wouldn't have seen the beautiful fireworks.

I don't know how we got here? so I kept rewinding these grand ideas of life and love. Hoping 'once apon a time' still had room for us.