II/c. (.. POETRY &. VIOLIN GAZE. )
❤
known throughout the small coffee shops of the Latin Quarter for her way of writing about love—as though she could describe the feeling so perfectly, it would come to life between the lines. Her words were sweet, ethereal, a melody that lingered. And yet, for all her talent in putting love to paper, she had never felt it herself. Love, that rare and poetic thing, had always eluded her like the last drop of wine in a delicate glass.
❤️ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤone autumn evening, as Paris glowed with the warm,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤgolden hues of dusk, Amélie wandered to the
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPont Alexandre III. She went there often,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤa ritual she kept when inspiration ran dry.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤShe was sketching ideas in her notebook,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤher gaze lost in the lights that shimmered on
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe Seine, when she noticed a man standing
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤat the edge of the bridge. His dark hair caught
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤin the evening breeze, he looked lost in
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤa
melody only he could hear.