Morning


The soft light of morning gently caresses the night’s fog, its luminous fingers filling it with color. The mist parts like an ocean in slow motion, the light giving life to amorphous silhouettes, straight walls leading to curved roofs. Shadows become crisp and lucid, revealing a city waking up to a new day. Smells of baking bread and freshly-cleaned streets fill the air, and the sounds of movement and civilization begin to resonate against ancient stone walls. The sun’s rays begin to pierce the grey veil, shaking the slumber from the city and its inhabitants.

And me.


I am home. I am in Paris.

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