So we flew away. And he fed me take out on the floor, stroke my hair and held my hand. The three of us took over the nights in Paris, listening to Louise Attaque all night long while emptying endless bottles of wine. We smoked cigarettes, forgot that we ever had voices and joined in a silent humming. Life was good and I felt safe. Yet I couldn't write it down, I couldn't say it out loud - I was stuck in a fantasy and we all know that those tend to slip away as soon as we make them public. I was happy as ever, still something was missing..
I stopped eating, had an exclusive relation with cigarettes and wine. Started again after too many disappointed looks from him. There were never any arguments, just the looks in his eyes and the times he turned away and disappeared into the night "to think".. I messed up and was minutes away from loosing it all. So I picked myself up from the street, with the help of my two big loves, my lovers in silk. And together we played the charade of life, still trying to figure out the lines, but it is always less hard when three sharing..
