Hey, it's Oscar. I hope you're okay. It's been a few weeks now since I wrote you. I
miss you. I know I should be enjoying my time here. I have a lot to say, but all I can think
about is you. I kept thinking about these few days we spent together back home in Paris
right before I left. It was so warm and sunny, finally. It felt nice. It was like an invitation
to go out. We wanted to do everything, but I would have said yes to anything.
You just moved to Paris, but I was born here. I walked this street so many times,
but they all looked different this time to me. How did I never notice?
You loved riding at night on a scooter. I loved holding your thigh just to make you feel safer.
We drank wine. We didn't dance because you were too shy,
but next time, you promised me you will, so I'm waiting.
You love music, probably as much as I do, and
that's something I love about you. So I made you listen to this song we made with Voyou
in Paris a few months ago.
It's funny because we didn't know each other when I wrote it, but I think it's about you.
Don't worry, Diane is actually pretty happy.
I want to be in this park again, your little cowboy boots laying in the grass.
I want to have breakfast at 3pm and listen to this Sunday afternoon playlist that you made.
I want to plan a hundred things, knowing we'll only take one or two of the list.
I want to hear you speak French, and then impress you with a few words I learned since I left.
I'm coming back in a few days.
Will you be there?
Take care.
Oscar.
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