We created the stupid mistake,
cliche of going to Paris
believed we would be as much in love
anywhere else as in our Eiffel-shadowed, baguette-stained beds
Maybe the stars shine brighter in French skies,
maybe we both lied when we looked at each other and saw only
the reflection of what we thought we should see there,
and said "I love you" anyway,
and when we left it took our sense of entitlement with it
as if at customs, they had stamped
instead of "via France",
instead of "in transit".
More poetry. I wrote half of this on the bus, while standing in between two people who were very much taller than me (in other words, while being slammed between backpacks). It made a lot more sense in my sleep-deprived head, but I've tried (hopefully successfully) to clear it up since then.