So here I am in Paris
but it isn't really.
It is only what I imagine Paris to be
or would like it to be
or have hoped it would be.
So here I am, in Paris, with you
but not exactly.
You are not what I imagined you to be
or would like you to be
or had hoped you would be.
So here I am alone
in a strange place.
I am not how I imagined myself to be
or would like to be
or had hoped I would be.
I wish I had a loaf of French bread
and a sweet pastry
since even in my imagining, wine is out.
I wish I had a hand to hold
or a book to read
written in both languages.
I wish I had a balcony
overlooking a busy boulevard
full of small cars
and bright bicycles.
I wish there were geraniums in hanging pots
and a flowered gown to wear.
I wish that for a day
I could be not-old again.
There would be an unmade bed,
also a dog,
and perhaps a man, or a woman.
I'd be happy either way.
So here I am in Paris
but not Paris.
Here I am with you,
but not you at all.
Here I am
whoever it is that I am,
leaning out from my balcony
in my flowered gown,
completely mystified like a little girl
giving her dolls names like
Hortense
Matilda
Jeanne Marie
or Shay Caroline
calling them by name and serving tea.
_________
I used THIS list of prompts again, this time #9.