this morning #335.

this morning, her husband whispered a series of soft french words into her ear. “mon cœur.” “mon amour.” “mon oisillon.” “ton bel esprit.” she accepted his love in the form of an intense stare back at him. “bon anniversaire.” outside their apartment, the nolita streets were already buzzing but his words & light jazz from the record player drowned it all out. though she was a shocking fifty years old today, many people still only saw her as the teenager who stunk up godfather III. she knew she was the sum of her parts, more than that thirty-year-old performance. her bicontinental lifestyle was a testament to that. the awards on her shelf proved them all wrong.