I know, I know, it's been done a thousand times, but don't worry. This isn't your same old jetlag, Paris story. I promise:D But I have "On the Wing" by Owl City on repeat and the line just pulled me into it. But it's not a songfic, just a drabble. Although I do suggest that you get a chance to listen to it. It's a great song:D
I'm trying to get to my other stories but inspiration is beating the crap out of me. But I will get a few more chapters out, I'm in Staten Island for the week and it's really nice out so, I haven't had too much time:P
Disclaimer: I'm running out of witty remarks….
It was Paris.
The city of romance. The city of lights. The city of love.
It was one weekend.
Two people, two characters. Too distant and stubborn to say anything, to feel anything.
Two partners, always on each other's six. Always lying, hiding.
But it was Paris, one weekend in Paris.
They could pretend to pretend.
Why not?
It is an assignment, nothing else, she thought.
I'm not going to hurt her again, he thought.
But they were human, they could love, they needed love, but from each other?
Partnerly love, yes.
Romantic love….
Paris. Flight. Bad Movie. Glances Stolen. Shared Hotel Room. One Bed. Words Exchanged. Laughs Shared. Hands Brushed. Hearts Melted. Hands Held. Arms Wrapped around.
A Kiss Shared.
One kiss. A peck.
Body's close, lying next to each other. Staring at each other. No words, just stares. Breaths heard, breaths taken away.
Until eyes closed, hands intertwined.
Bright lights. Green eyes open. Chocolate eyes glisten. Smiled is shared. Blushes are seen. Love is felt.
A beautiful view, she said. A beautiful girl, he replied.
The smell of cologne. The smell of shampoo. The smell of love. The smell of Pairs.
Hands held. Shoulders touched. A seat shared. Waists together. Sites seen.
Her chin on his shoulder. His head touching hers.
A stop is made. A shop is seen. A camera is in hand.
Her eyes catches something, turning her head slightly.
A picture is captured.
A moment in Paris is captured.
A walk is taken. Hands held are held. Glances are caught. Whispers are shared.
They talk, they part.
He takes pictures and drives around; thinking of her.
She has seen it all before; she eats, thinking of him.
He pulls up. She gets on. Wrapping her arms around his chest, feeling his heart beat, his muscle tense.
But now they were on the wing. Back to America, back to normal.
Two days in Paris.
Two partners.
Two people.
One man. One woman.
One Tony. One Ziva.
Where ever life may take them. Whatever journeys they encounter. They will forever remember.
The weekend we were in love.
It's a different type of writing for me. But I kinda like it. mostly cause as I look up all I see are green squiggly lines under all my grammar mistake. Legit, this is a grammar nazi's worst nightmare. But anyways. Hope you liked it. I know nothing went down in Paris, but hey a girl can dream:D
Review!