Retour à Paris

Something always remains the same,
like that street its name,
that café we used to go,
and the garden where we used to walk.

Heat travelled with the wind,
body calmed down with the ice.
Colors in the sunlight,
sweat flowing on our skin.

Paints on the wall,
Photos are in my phone.
Smell in the air,
Memories were in my head.

Sitting in the cafe to chat,
we shared worries, we inspired ideas.
Lying on the ground to hang,
we met and released. We dreamed.