dreaming

Waist-length metal bars pressed up against her crimson, flared, linen skirt as the wind brushed against her sun-kissed face. The Parisian, accordion melody emanating from the record player intertwined with the fruit and flower aroma that resided in the stemmed glass, took her away from reality. Intensely gazing at the cotton candy horizon, her view of the dense lush trees disappeared and was replaced with grey, distinguished roofs that sat atop sandstone buildings. The scent of the wine lingered, however, the French music faded and instead, bustling cars and shouts of Parisiens filled the narrow street. Her spirit had transported itself onto the balcony of Convention, where bottles of rosé were equal to that of singular chocolate infused éclair. Mornings that started with bumpy métro rides to rive droite were accompanied by countless poached eggs and avocado toasts. Sauntering down the tight, twisting streets, Wednesday’s were constantly extraordinary for her and the newfound, spontaneous companion she had befriended. Once prominent excursions, to eccentric cafés, museums with plentifully bestrewn art, and lush, hidden meadows, now resembled a forgotten childhood film that lingered, buried in their memories. Sitting along the basin of the dark teal pond in a green, metal, patio chair, she admired the small, toy motorized boats that paralleled what she had read in children's books. Evenings surrounding small, wooden bistro tables with unimaginable cuisine, involuntarily caused her mouth to salivate. As she regained consciousness on her balcony, her mouth yearned for a Nutella crêpe, and she was once again lost, reminiscing of the invigorating, carefree, and serendipitous days that now seem like a distant fantasy.