It’s our Time Paris
I graze the sullen sidewalks in the brisk winter morning. My hands finger tips are bitter but I keep them exposed to feel the warmth of the cup and the pure Parisian air. My heart pounds between every cobblestone crack. My blood is thick and my cheeks are flushed. I know so many before me have danced the romance, have drunk the wine, but now, Paris, it is our time.
12/08/2009 13:26
