One morning I wake up in an apartment that is my own. It's not big, and not necessarily spotless. There are clothes idling on the floor surrounding a simple, white double bed, and a first inch of sunshine winks on the horizon. It leaks through the window and causes a luminescent stripe upon my white sheets. It's 5:43am, and although the apartment has only three rooms, there is a questionable metal balcony; accessible through large French windows. Here is where I take myself, whether wrapped in duvet or towel, to witness the sunrise over the rooftops of Paris. I do not care that I am alone, with a friend, a cat, or a lover. In these minutes, I am wholly myself, and that is all I need from life.
It is but the only thing I am certain of: my Parisian rooftops.
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