We almost had Paris.
We almost had Paris We were close weren’t we, sunshine? We were so close. Almost. You’d call me at 1am almost every night and keep on til’ 4 and you’d cry at first. But then, it became radio sunshine. All the hits from 1 til’ 4 and you’d play The 1975, just for me. You hate The 1975. We made plans for Paris. While you lay upside down with a beret placed jaunty on your head. In a room you always said was too fucking hot. It was going to be hot. The sunshine was inside keeping me warm. We gave ourselves different identities and decided that Paris needed us, we’d go and take it by storm. We’d wander around art galleries, eat nothing but pastries and pasta and you’d drink wine until I’d have to lead you home. And we’d laugh. We’d laugh so hard at our horrific fake accents and our outlandish outfit choices but they were ours. That night when you rang at 2am and said that you wished I was there, I booked Paris. A surprise. Of course. For after...
