En Air

4.28am.

4.28 am
Even now, lying on the couch in the dark I can feel the sun making me blush by planting kisses on my cheeks.
I can smell the flirting cherry blossoms, cotton candy against the pastel sky.
And I can see the floral pink air surrounding the lovers that sit canoodling, whispering, kissing, closely nestled on the benches dotted around the Pont des Arts, or locking the glinting engraved padlocks that would signify their supposed eternal love.

The thing that catches my eye, however, is standing hunched like a question mark at the far end of the bridge, an ace card in the thick sea of love. She is small and frayed around the edges, and deep ridges filled with linear stories lie in in her cheeks and forehead. Her frame is fragile and bent, struggling with the weight of all the experiences she has had. And yet, she is familiar somehow, worn but comfortable, like an old, bedraggled teddy bear.

Somehow, I am drawn over to her.