I carried a gun in my Chanel 2.55 once. A boy I liked left it in my apartment and I didn't want it there since it took my breath away everytime my eyes met it and not in a newly inlove kind of way. It apeared in my dreams at night, it controlled my thoughts so I gently folded some silk around it, put it down carefully and walked with determinded steps to the thames late one night with stars as my witnesses and droped it into the dark and forgiving water. The moon turned black for a split second and my heart stopped, then he returned and all was well. My bag was easy to carry again, and my feet had broken loose from their concrete foundation that they'd walked around with before. But now I miss it. It was a beautiful piece, something to put on top of a pile of books. The weight is incredible.
But it's gone, much like the boy I once liked. But Paris, loyal and beautiful Paris is still here and so is Chloè with her loving eyes.