Paris

Paris smells like you.

I sometimes wish it didn’t though. Like,

Sometimes would be easier if I just hadn’t met you, easier like, “Paris smells like pee”.

But I met you, and you smell like hopes and dreams and everything Disney has ever shown to me. And so does Paris.

When I met someone I like, I imagine sequences of how our future will develop, also I get to picture the end, cause deep inside I know, it always finishes.

But when I saw you for the first time I had this incredible feeling of being in front of the present.

My doctor says that when I felt depressed it was because I was too attached to my past and that everytime I had an anxiety episode it was because I was too afraid of my future.

When I am with you I feel like in Hawaii even if we are dancing down the rain with minus one degree in Place de Clichy metro station.

I feel like there’s nothing to be worried about because I am kissing the now itself.

I’m holding hands with no idealization but the fact that I’m being held by today, and yet, anxiety has its way to take me away from it and haunt me until I drown in a hole of not knowing if I ever get to see you again.

Depression lends me its flat on Fuck You St wishing I never knew what peace was like.

Let me explain myself:

When I unlike my present and I mean, unlike it up to the point where I can’t take it anymore, meaning I become a flesh and bones robot on automatic mode, I tend to think about the future, I make plans as I try to look into a scene where there is spring with no allergies. I picture a cliff where I can jump because before I crush against the ground a plane would catch me and take me to a safe land, to a “likable present”.

Not to say that I would do Le Tour du Mond in Soixante Dix Neuf Jours to be with you for a few hours.

When you said that strangers can be unpredictable pleasant I never thought that it would feel like jumping from the Himalaya without a Parachute and landing on the Eiffel Tower on a floor of Teddy Bears.

#CheesyAsFuck

Instead, I wake up, in reality, trying to find ways to avoid making our see you soon a broken promise and fighting my monsters with your last goodnight text, hoping it won’t be the last one.

I know how it sounds, but when I try not to be a Drama Queen I end up being a careless soul with a shallow heart and I would rather have the worst of Shakespeare’s death than you thinking that I forgot you.

At the same time, it is safe for me to believe that if you are not there, at least, Paris will always stand for what once was an indestructible place.

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