We were in La Sainte-Chapelle, you and I, the beautiful Gothic Chapel on the on the Île de la Cité. It was a brilliant day, with the sun streaming through the stained glass, coating us both in blue. Why do things have to end?
It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should love, the other win;
And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:
The reason no man knows, let it suffice,
What we behold is censured by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?
We parted at the Opera, doubtless never to see one another again.