I DREAM A DIFFERENT VIEW/ 2:35am & Other Stories

Paris- standing across from the lock bridge, along the Seine River

Outside my window lay asphalt and brownstone and oversized carriages, juxtapose century-old trees that confused by warmer-than-usual temperatures bear buds in winter. 

I think to myself, the trees ought to know better. 

Still, confusion is indiscriminate. And unlike the trees, it's falling temperatures that confuse me. Stale, biting air, transforming live material into brittle fragments. 

I dream a different view where cobblestone pathways line riverbanks, and salt-washed rooftops produce an erotic skyline. Where a lock bridge echoes love and friendship and tender moments. Where red lipstick stains on coffee cups and paperbacks hanging out of knapsacks are as ubiquitous as baguette and croissant. Where cornflower blue bicycles sport baskets filled with wildflowers and newspapers and provisions, creating visual art. Where time crawls and breathtaking landscapes dismantle heartache: that sharp, vicious, inexplicable pain customized to the individual.

I dream a different view where warmth is everlasting.