Love from Paris

A small bit of something, that might be something more like a story. I’m not sure. I’ve written a few more paragraphs, but might let them sit for a while.

The plane lands. She looks outside her window. It has just begun to snow. She breathes a small fog patch onto the window, and draws a small heart with her hesitant fingers. Once again, she finds herself asking why did she come?

She looks out through the foggy window and sees a young couple, holding hands as they board a small plane. Quickly, she turns away as she feels a light flutter of something yet unknown.

What was it that she was hoping to find here?

It was a rainy winter morning. She had woken that morning with a strange feeling. It was a feeling of yearning, desire and longing.

Quickly, she dresses, skips breakfast, and drives to work. At the office, she works, through the day, on this thing and that. Then late after work, as usual, she sits down to dinner by herself. She has a simple dinner of pasta tonight. As she eats, she notices an unexpected guest.

She wonders what her guest might want, so she asks.
She waits, letting the words linger in the air.
But there is no response.

She already had everything she wanted.

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