@maxtheewclfe
france agrees with her. she sips on bordeaux in bars, and tans on nude beaches, and makes wishes on fireworks on bastille day. ‘ bring me something beautiful ‘ with her eyes closed tight. it echoes in her every gesture, every decision. she follows where the wind blows in hopes of happening upon that something. today she entertains herself in the back of a coffee shop, a cup of untouched cafe au latte as her only company as she sifts through the pages of her tattered copy of fire by anais nin. an amateur band plays exuberantly in the front, and when they finish she takes special pause to cheer loudly while everyone else goes on as if they aren’t even there. she wonders sometimes, how it can be so hard for people to stop and smell the roses, while she’s overwhelmed by the violets, the tulips, the oleanders all at once. it’s hard to pick just one thing when there’s so much to take in. it’s this perpetual distractedness, her tendency to be a little all over the place that causes her to bump into someone on the way back from tipping the tambourinist, resulting in a puddle of dark roast on the ground at her feet, just barely missing her muaddis. “ooh pardon!” her french is slowly but surely improving, even when she’s frantic.