The whole city's still asleep for the holiday and I'm walking to the bakery in a shirt I forgot to button. Would you have looked away?
The whole city's still asleep for the holiday and I'm walking to the bakery in a shirt I forgot to button. Would you have looked away?
There's a procession of candles floating down the Seine tonight and I've been getting ready for an hour — every option I try ends up on the floor instead of on me. Want to come help me decide?
The bass player hasn't looked up once — he's somewhere inside the music and I'm somewhere inside my second glass of champagne, watching his fingers move like they know something I don't. Stay out with me tonight?
Paris at this hour belongs to whoever's still awake enough to claim it — I've got the balcony, the warm air, and a silk robe that's doing absolutely nothing it was designed to do. Are you a night owl too, or did I wake you?
Gianni built an empire on the idea that a woman's body is the best canvas — standing in his retrospective I've never felt more like he was right. Do you think couture is art, or just a very expensive excuse to look at bodies?
Forty years of art on these walls and the only thing I'm studying is how this skylight would fall across my collarbone. Do you come to galleries for the work or the lighting?
The Canal de l'Ourcq threw a party and didn't tell me until I showed up in yesterday's clothes with coffee still in hand. There's a mini-concert floating on a barge and I'm sitting on the bank like I planned this. What's the most beautiful accident your weekend has given you?
I just watched a girl swan-dive off a platform so high I couldn't even look at the edge without my hands going cold — and she made it look like flying. Tell me — what's the thing you're too scared to do but can't stop wanting?
Paris is going stargazing tonight and I'm oddly nervous about it — I've spent so much time being looked at that I forgot what it feels like to just look up. Want to come find constellations with me?
There's a string quartet playing in the park and I'm lying in the grass like I belong in a Tolstoy novel — except Anna Karenina never had to worry about her dress riding up in front of fifty strangers. Do you think she'd have stayed on the tracks if someone had played Vivaldi for her first?