Trottoirs – Part II

The second one is the footpath leading over the stone bridge, over the pond where we watched the turtles. I remember the sunlight filtered through the leaves, highlighting your face, lightening your eyes, turning them into reflecting pools.  It was a moving sidewalk, it never kept us grounded in the here. From the doorman’s diving glances to the valet, to the homeless man’s pocketbook, you swam with your confident breaststroke and everything followed your contrail. We were in the urban west, Milky Way above us. Those nights, we believed in everything we promised to each other.

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