If I were dancing down the streets of Montmartre
While the rain paved its way down my cheeks
The bitter taste of mascara in my mouth
Made sweet by the blur of the lights
Would I then feel whole?

If the only worries I had
Were catching the evening train from Lyón to Lille,
The smudge of brown lipstick on my teeth,
Or an overpriced café au lait,
Would I then be as I once was?

That’s when I tell myself
That my thoughts are traitorous.
No matter where I am
Whether it be Paris or Appalachia
Whether the walls are made of gold or cinderblock
My sorry soul will always want for more.

There is no “as I once was,”
For even when I was living there
In a memory that nostalgia has long since warped to her own design,
That girl across the sea in the city of lights
Felt the same longing
As I feel now.