we're tripping down dundas st. west, swaying to either booze in our muscles or music in our head and we're just chatting ourselves away. complain about how canadian guys don't seem to have much initiative and i don't-know-how-the-fuck-anybody-meets-anybody-else-inthis-damn-city-anymore kind of conversations. it almost doesn't matter coz we're quite happy where we are, we're just complaining. we're hopeful yet just complaining. love still exists we know it. we just don't believe in those movies so much anymore, that's all.
apparently we're supposed to meet in Paris five years from now, at the eiffel tower and partnered with our significant others, sipping on some "chamPAG-NEE" as I'd like to call it oh-so-tastefully. it sounds like a ridiculous dream right now but it sounds like a plan. and in that plan, I hear the panic and the hope of the twenty-something-year-old's that we are: single and happy, but slightly hungry to find something substantial that we can hold on to.
i tell her that five years from now i will remind her of this night where we were those wide-eyed and bordering-on-pathetic-girls who strutted a street wondering where-the-fuck-we'll-find-our-men. and i tell her we'll laugh and never let others know how desperate we were. (what i don't tell her is how much i enjoy these nights regardless. what i also don't tell her is how quite alright i am with this dichotomy of hope and panic. i've found love before, so i live in the truth that i'll find it again - and until then, i enjoy these nights.)
guess i gotta save up for paris. :)
such a cute post :)
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