You were always on my mind

 



Cafe's in paris are over-rated.

Fuck The Louvre.

Fuck the eiffel tower,
it's just a bunch of goddamn metal, 1,665 steps, you aren't even aloud to take them all the way up.

Did you know that the eiffel tower was built for the world fair in france in 1889, The United states got pretty pissed about it and held an even bigger world fair in chicago in 1893, they knew they needed something to compare to the eiffel tower, so they built the first Ferris Wheel, I learned that from a travel brochure.

Did you know that at the world fair in chicago in 1893 there was a man who went under the ailias of H.H. Holmes, he built a hotel, and killed his guests, it's believed that he killed up to 200 people. His real name was Herman Webster Mudgett, I read a book about him, it's called The Devil In The White City, it's by Erik Larson.



I sat in my hotel room all day yesterday smoking through the carton of Gauloises that I picked up at the airports "essentials" store. They're strong. Smoking them  was thought of as patriotic during WWI.

I drank the coffee that my hotel room provided me. It tastes worse then Folgers. It was raining when I got off the plane, I think it's raining even harder now. All I brought was a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt and about $50 USD, I'm only here for one more day, I don't even know why the hell I came here. I had a few days off of work, and I couldn't stop thinking about Mila, so I just left, took off to paris, thought that I might forget her.

I've been in my hotel room the whole time, Scribbling lines in my journal, drawing pictures and writing over and over again:

 

It's not your fault. Float on. It's not your fault. Float on. It's not your fucking fault. Float On.

I should have jumped in, but instead I took a plane to paris, blew over $2,000 on the trip, and I'm stuck in a room with a picture of a brunette on the wall, drinking a cup of coffee, smoking a cigarette, it's black and white, but I think her nails are probably painted red. She looks nothing like you, but I can't help but see you, I can't stop thinking about you.

I'm thinking about you like ice thinks about cracking.

I'm thinking about you like cigarettes think about lighters.

I'm thinking about you like I'm thinking about jumping out of the sixth floor of my hotel.

I'm thinking about you like I'm thinking about my plane crashing on the way home,

Like love thinks about Paris,

I'm thinking about you like bare hands think about the snow,

like bare feet think about hot pavement.

I'm thinking about you like smoke thinks about lungs.

I'm thinking about you like guns think about mouths, like bullets think about pushing through your brain.

I'm thinking about you like fish think about a broken hook.

I'm thinking about you the night you wore fishnets with those gray shorts, and neither of us could stop laughing because I had taken off all your clothes but the fishnets and you called me a "perverted freak" and I called you a "dirty whore" and we couldn't stop laughing and it killed the mood and we didn't have sex that night, and neither of us really cared.

I'm thinking about you like the first time I saw you naked, like the first time you climbed into bed with me, like the first night we didn't have sex,
i'm thinking about you like we never had sex

I'm thinking about you like I'm thinking about leaving my hotel room, and getting really fucking drunk, hopefully passout--maybe hit my head on the way down--and when I wake up (possibly after my flight has already left) I won't remember your face.