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I walk the streets of Paris
God I love Paris
God I hate Paris
The sun is shining It feels like a cold wet November night
As someone else did before me
I walk the cobblestones of Montmartre
Under the helo of an old street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
I fear every beloved spot, every corner and curve
Fear of seeing your shadow
But knowing you'll never be there
Never again with me in Paris
I hate that I love Paris
YOU ARE READING
Histo-Taiment
Non-FictionThis is going to be a collection of short stories related to History and Entertainment or that are Historically entertaining.
