In Ithaca, in San Junipero, Alabama, or on some beach on the west coast of California, our destiny is this infallible certainty of simultaneously fitting into our most exalted definitions of perfection. No matter the time or circumstantial details; past and present, for us both, still play the same tune. The subtle electricity that tunes our gazes and the relentless – and constant – clamor of all our senses still prevail in the best chapter of our romance. Our path is sweetly unique, uniting, at once, the urgency of physical presence with the poetic nuances of a platonic love. Nothing explains what unites us, nor comprehends the incessant warmth of the eternal and vestal flame that burns reciprocally within us, emitting the simple signal that presence is intensely felt even in the darkness of absence. I return, finally, to Ithaca...and find my ideal of paradise still untouched in the unspeakable perfection of each of your smiles. Dance with us once again, we'll always have Paris.