My dearest,

I sat in a cafe in Paris writing in my journal today. I was surrounded by the most beautiful sights and sounds … and people, such beautiful people, while a history I have only imagined seemed to drip down the walls of every edifice.

And still I missed you.

I looked for my rose coloured glasses to go with the rose coloured light of Paris to remember you with but they failed me this time.

I wanted to remember your lips on mine, soft, then hard. Your hands gentle before gripping my hair to pull my head back as you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of my neck marking me as yours. I wanted to remember you as part of an us who were once so deeply in love, drowning in passion.

But I remembered the increased silences, the coldness, you slipping away and me becoming one more burden for you to bear in your already burdensome life.

So now I walk the streets of a beautiful European city and listen to voices that sound more like music than words. I order cafe and croissant and write long passages in my journal hoping that one day I will finally have written you out of my heart.

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