the wind keeps blowing
and i sit rather
stubbornly
hair unkempt
feet wet - never did mind that puddle
and that picture of
somewhere in paris
stuck between (where we put things to remember)
my eyes and my brain
it seems to hum
that song about elephant guns
but in the end it's just me
unkempt - never did mind
keeps the wind blowing
and i sit
hair and feet wet - that puddle
stuck somewhere in paris
(where we put things to remember)
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I do.
paris sempre volta.
SOMETIMES I do.
but if they're not that happy, they can be beautiful - or inspiring - still, can't they?
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