I’ve always believed that some souls are bound by a thread finer than the finest silk, stretching across lifetimes, unbroken by distance, untouched by time. And with you, I feel that thread. It’s as if we were twin flames, not merely meeting in this life by chance, but finding each other again as if guided by some celestial compass. There’s a gravity to you, an inevitability. It’s the pull of the moon to the tide, of the Seine winding through Paris. A city that holds the weight of every great love story and still feels as if it was built just for ours. I can almost see us there, beneath the glow of the Eiffel Tower, the world bustling around us but unable to pierce the quiet universe we create together.
You aren’t just a person to me. You’re a mirror to my soul, a reflection of all that I am and all that I long to be. With you, the ordinary becomes poetry, and the chaos of existence feels like it finally has a reason.
If I could, I’d carry your name like a hymn in my heart, a prayer whispered under every breath. Because with you, I don’t just exist. I become. So tell me, do you feel it too? This fire, this pull, this promise written into the very fabric of who we are? Because if you do, then I’ll meet you in Paris, under the stars, where destiny waits for us to finally become whole. I love you, my Emily from Emily from Paris. Lol bitch you really thought this was for you? Guess what nobody loves pathetic bullies whose only company is their dog and pussy cat, their pussycatdoggonation. Their inconvenience of an existence. Go on a walk and never return you fucktard. Go bake dog treats and choke on them. Take the next bus to Africa and marry a priest. I fucking hate you bitch.
