We had tickets and a room booked
in a home in an arrondissement on a hill
near where Toulouse-Lautrec lived
the family have children the same age
and we were excited for them to stumble
into each other’s languages and worlds
the room where we would sleep
has walls the colour of paper
that gets wet accidentally and then dries
but of course
we can’t go now
with the world stopped
though I imagined it so deeply
it is almost as though we already went
so I sometimes ask myself
for stories
like how in person
the walls were more
the colour of butter.
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