Charles de Gaulle before dawn, the shops aren't open but the smell of coffee (real coffee, you hear yourself think) sails across the terminal. You feel your sunburn start to cool, you feel your heart still beam, in a few hours you will be in a north Chelsea skyscraper and while you cannot yet imagine what your heart will say against its skyline views, you know you've never landed at JFK in remorse. This is a gift, it is not lost on you. Words begin to return, she says see you at our regular bar when you land? I'll get a table with room for your bags, New York whispers to you of stories yet unwritten, somehow you walked off one day in search of the world and found answers you hadn't known to ask for.
You find yourself wondering what would happen if you stepped off in Paris.
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