A Paris Story

It is as it always was: She is chaos. And she is peace. She is everywhere and nowhere really. In this case, she is at the breakfast table on the sunny side of her apartment, dipping croissants in her café au lait and chatting an hour away with me. But in her head, she’s done a million things today.  Right now, she’s mentally already left the room, only that she didn’t tell me.

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