It doesn’t matter. None of it.
It doesn’t matter that hate ruled one day. One day on a list of tens of thousands of days. A day with one check mark next to it. On that list of days and days, that day the sun still warmed the fog and the frost off the world. Horns honked and people rushed to beat the crossing traffic. All going some where.
This matters.
A million people want to see you again, walk you again, sit and have café again. Discover you, all over again, happen upon a patisserie, again. Some will enjoy a first purchase of le pain and eclair. Why does it all taste so good here?
Shiny cobble matters. You matter, cobble, taken up for repair and replacement. Cared for you so much they give you a new start, to be cracked, become uneven, and worn, again. Thousands of stones getting a new start, again.
A million of us long to be lost again. To wander the rues and alleys unknown and unseen before, to wear out our maps and make holes in the folds, again.
You are the gem I mine for, buried in my rock of routine. You are the world’s absolute symbol of love and everyone wants you, again.
And that matters.