we were supposed to meet in paris. if we got lost, and i've been so lost. we'd grab the nearest baguette and hum the tune to you've got a friend. or eat alligator soup together in a smoky theater just off the french quarter. or start farms and run into one another, armfuls of vegetables, at the market. we were supposed to do the crazy, impulsive things that make our passion-signal become louder and broader, like a beacon for eachother.

and i sit here quietly while it rains, staring at my mental pictures of you. so many things slip through fingers; i still have your eyes for me and i wish you would come to take them back.