Paris.

I knew that I was his third cup of coffee,

Which he consumed to kill this fire, he had inside his chest

that kept on burning the two of us.

But I still continued searching

for all the moments we spent,

In the old bookshops and on the

broken autumn pavements, giggling

over those stupid jokes, thinking;

I might find a glimpse of

everything that was left behind.

For Paris never lied to the lovers

And my heart has been deeply in love with his imperfections.

Sadly! Heartaches wouldn’t see any location,

So I gulped down, an even bitter cup

to dissolve the pain he installed in my soul,

I could smell it in the air, this gloomy cloud of blue hovering over my head,

Even the roads seemed to bend and hug,

My love city bid me a silent farewell

As I took that last walk to the airport.

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7 thoughts on “Paris.

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