we got up. it was warm for winter, but ice patches remained on the sidewalks where the sun doesn't hit. (these patches stay through the winter here, requiring a full week of spring to thaw them.) we went to a cafe. and there, we poured over books about paris. we scribbled on post-its, we daydreamed in tandem, in quiet whispers and through fingers finding each other in quick, diminishing intervals across the table.