A postcard image,
a selfie that would receive a thousand likes.
A scene out of a movie — the end, of course, of a romantic drama,
or a romcom, maybe starring Meg Ryan.
But not Megan Fox, and I don’t know why.
It’s a story of two people who were not born into magic —
born into the dream —
but had to find it.
Maybe that’s why
it could only exist in a lie,
because the magic was never found.
The line to reach the top of the Eiffel Tower is roughly two hours,
starting at around 9am.
On weekends,
more like three.
That’s a good trek through the louvre, or Orsay,
a decent day shopping (or window shopping) on the Champs Elyssee.
A dream won’t dwell on the wait in line, the sore feet, the frayed nerves