She sneaks snacks from others who willingly hold their hands out to her, the stray cat. They pet her, and tell her how beautiful she is, and she shines like she once did for him. She feels guilty for taking their snacks.
So, sure, I remember what it’s like to miss you and maybe that makes me weak. Maybe I’m as vulnerable as the day that you left me. But I know that’s not the case.
How I longed to smoke and drink coffee with the artists and writers, discuss the meaning of life and the purpose of art, exchange witticisms and criticisms while our laughter rose above the din of the cafe along with our smoke, into the Parisian night. Why didn’t you ever take me to Paris? You ...