Just past Paris and to the left
I want the fields, beckoning her to run and play
I want the monthly trips to see her see it all
The romanticism in the air, filling her heart
Every joy inside of her bursting through her smile, never knowing what it is to not be free
and just pass Paris and to the left, you’ll find us there. Blue wood door frame next to dingy brick with soft lights inside and out. our true Home.










