Instead of Thinking of You, I Pretend
Stephanie Maher
I am in a Paris café.
There is a tea stain on the table cloth,
The sun hitting my knees.
A man, who wants to write a song about my laugh,
Is near me.
He’ll tell me that most of the perpetually in love will be forgotten,
But I will not.
He won’t let it happen.
I will sigh.
Happy to be in the city, close to the monuments people see on t.v.
Happy the local news in only in French.
Happy you are somewhere across the Atlantic and have no idea where I am,
Or how good it feels to be with this tall Parisian who brings me tea and lilies,
And lightly kisses my forehead,
When he can see I am overwhelmed by the hurry and the noise of the city.
