an_ardent_parisian_intellectual fyn gula there are people we meet, stars we crash into in the brightest of moonlit nights, and we know from the second our thoughts become words and our words form dialogue, that we have tasted the wine only gods can offer. we drink, our cheeks blush, our senses dance, we speak a language that we have created, and eventually we kiss, not only with moistened lips and closed eyes, inhaling fragrance and wearing it later on our clothing, but with minds eager to question, discover, and explore. paris, our beautiful woman, hushed city of reflected lights, she tried to smother the urge to stay up all night, but still we lingered, silent in all we had to say, full of treasure, falling into comfort, the seine lapping her banks, a lullabye. 011231 what's it to you? who go blather from