Arc de Triomphe

There is nothing. Nothing that can be as much as what already is. Everything that has been and everything that still has to come. Everything that I won't allow to fade away.

Years and years and years ago. The most beautiful song in the world, or rather, several. The quiet sleep - the perfect quiet at the foot of hundreds of years of history. The very thing that I'm looking for. Away from swarming; away from photos tucked in albums tucked in unopened cupboards tucked in homes. We are told what matters but, dear God, I hope we see what really actually matters.

Would you still be impressed at that tiny piece of paint if you had walked through that beautiful corridor? Could you still bring yourself to even take out your camera if you had seen all that had just passed? I don't deny that the garden is impressive, but at the very end of it, it's the single vine.

In my mind, we are forever waking up to paper bags of breakfast. We are forever pushing a bicycle up a bridge. We are forever where we are.

Trust me - I will not allow otherwise.