"I’m okay, Paris. I feel a bit groggy, yes, from having slept about 3.5 hours every day for the last three days, because there aren’t enough hours in a day to get things done recently, or that’s how I’d like to put it anyway – ce n’est pas ma faute, tu vois? (I know how much you adore it when I speak French in my silly accent) but I’m okay: for the first time in a while, I’m okay about being away from you..."

"...I guess there isn’t really much to say about being okay, is there? Except the list of contrasting states to being okay – like..."

(Read the full text on imaginedparis.com)

"I have nothing to say to you. Nothing so personal, anyway. In case you can’t stomach it. In case I can’t stomach it..."

"...Do you even want to be with me knowing how unlight I can be, or am I only this heavy because I’m not there with you, fully? Either way, how can I even breathe regularly knowing that my lung and my heart belong to your bohemian air?"

(Read the full text on imaginedparis.com)