Adveniat

it’s 2 am in paris and we have locked arms as we walk-run down the rue des rosiers. the soles of our shoes smack against the eight hundred year old cobblestone. we hurry to an unknown destination, desperately searching for a room for the night. on the dim street corners desperate men leer, as they do, while we huddle into ourselves in an equally desperate defense. we are fourteen and lost, in every sense. we walk for most of the night. i begin to feel as if i’d always been walking, as if i would never come to a stop. when finally we knock upon a paint-peeled door and are offered a room, we collapse onto the bed in a heap of exhaustion and exhilaration. we open the dormer window, allow the traffic and the ceaseless midnight chatter of the eighth arrondissement to wash over us like dandelion seeds on the wind, and you begin to sing. my voice raises to join yours and we lie in bed, singing ourselves to sleep, utterly unaware of the time and beauty and youth we’ve been gifted.