This is what Charlotte writes.

11.16.07

January

Rain
Cold, Wet
Standing in line
Along side glass pyramids
I can’t believe I’m here
Earlier I stood on a hill
Watching overcast skies cloak the Parisian skyline
But now we’re inside, on escalators, descending down
We wander halls filled with art, searching for her
“Ou est…” doesn’t help when you can’t understand the answer.
We run in circles, studying the maps, getting lost, getting distracted
We want to see everything at once, but we have our goal
Finally we’re there, and the room is teeming, overflowing with people and security.
She watches, amused, condescending, knowingly important, because we’re here for her.