This shall be called Jac Capra And The Curious Premonition of Over-Indugence And No Control.
I simply can't say no. One of these days it's going to get me into trouble, like real trouble. So far the worst has just been awful morning-afters and head-splitting hangovers.
Real trouble? Hardly. A few questionable decisions, sure. Heartache, of course, but always tied to the best of times and the craziest of times and the most memorable and I hate to say defining, but it's true. So many sleepless nights walking back home or biking back fast in pace with the sunrise. This never happened when I was with Claire.
(That's a lie. There was that prime acid on a Wednesday night with that fucking wildcat drug mule Andrew, but they were so few and far between back then.)
God, I love flirting.
I think I might like it more than the sex on some occasions.
Maybe it's just been so long since I've had any worth writing home about.
She tells me, "Maybe the anticipation is better than the fact."
********
It's raining in Paris on my last day. They're playing Fleetwood Mac in the cafe; Australian cafe in Paris in the Marais. Je sais.
"Thunder only happens when it's raining."
Why
Do I always love to dive
Into girl's minds
Whatever happens to you over the years as you change and things fade and time slips away, never, never, never forget these moments and the feelings you had in Paris, especially now in the rain on this last day and the deep surging from the pores and the flashes white of what comes of doing everything you can for a person; the wonderful weight of anticipation, like I could explode into light at any second and that would be all right. There's no name for this feeling, I know it, not in any language.
