it’s snowing here in Paris,
huge, fluffy flakes that float down and then melt immediately when they meet the street. the cats are padding about calmly, my wife’s asleep, and i’m still here, ghosting through the wee hours.
Norah Jones is crooning “Come Away With Me” live on television, and her voice is a kind of silky balm.
the night wears on …and on, and i miss my little boy so fucking much.