I followed it to Chicago,
New York, Dubai and Paris
climbing the stairs of the Eiffel Tower in the rain.
she was behind me, panting but keeping my pace.
We looked towards le Jardin de Luxembourg,
the Champs Elysee, and finally towards the bridge
where lovers make promises
so often broken,
we went there and found the red lock,
now spray painted in yellow optimism
that no longer existed.
it was no longer here, nor was he,
at least I know, and she took my hand.
it's time to go home to look for it in an
early sunrise, a hot cup of mint tea or
the smile I see in your eyes.