I write fanfiction instead of taking notes in psyche class.
I also don't own anything.
Paris was reaching twilight. Lights reflected in many windows, leaving the dark windows as gaps in the city's smile. Of course, Paris did not have much to smile about that night. She had lost many children the past two days. Their blood still stained her cobblestone skirts, yet she smiled.
A gust of wind blew through dusky streets, fluttering a curtain in one of the dark rooms. Inside the room, a piece of parchment scattered from its place on the pillow to dance on the breeze before gently floating out the window. It merrily made its way down the street, landing in a sodden gutter. One corner flapping in the wind caught the attention of a passing soldier. Leaning down, his deft fingers retrieved the parchment, unfolding it. The scrawl was hurried, as if the author had been trying to capture ideas before they escaped him. At some places the ink blotted, and the bottom was wet from the gutter. The soldier's eyes slid down the page.
"Loving you is my own personal revolution. Perhaps the one thing I should avoid at all costs, I seek out nightly. After rebelling against oppression for hours, I come to you so I can rebel against myself.
"You are everything a young man such as I should avoid. A drunkard. A doubter. A man. Yes, I know that it is not so odd amongst Parisians, yet two men is frowned upon by this tyrannical society. As it were, I don't have the time for such dalliances.
"However, because of all that, I feel as if you are a good choice. You provide a small break for me. From fighting, from persuasion, from fiery passion.
"I can imagine very well the look upon your face, and I would appreciate it if you'd stop. You know as well as I that there is no passion is lost between the two of us; it is a passion of a different sort. It is not my passion for freedom, but more of a freedom to have passion. I am able, while with you, to laugh, sigh, love, weep…you have never seen my tears, but the fact that I could weep upon your shoulder is very liberating.
"You give me freedom, wine cask.
"For that, I thank you.
"I will see you after the battle has been won.
"Lucien Enj-"
The rest of the signature was wet, illegible. The soldier shook some excess water from the letter and folded it. Placing it in his breast pocket, he continued down the street.