France

They told me of you like a folk's tale. I never could know the truth, for they all shaped the story to their will.

There were two of you, but you left first, that much I can attest to. The other always tried to shine as bright as the sun, as to not leave any shadow, where you would inevitably creek. But there, behind the bright Elizabeth Arden smile and the radiant Rimmel eyes, I could see you lie night and day.

One day, you woke up and you decided to defy the gods, you were resolved to take back control on that sacred part of life that they greedily keep to themselves. The poets said you were found like a victorian lady with jet black hair, laying at the bank of the river. The moralists, on the other hand, told me you took too much of those small pellets that made it seem like you were floating in the air. Icarus that you are, the sun burned your feathers.

Sometimes, when I'm lost, distant and divorced from the land of reason, I get a glimpse of you. And so, the clouds split and the sea stops it's tantrum. I can see the shore.