I believe that if I went back to Paris this instant I would find the mosque and you within it sitting next to a shadow of me drinking sweet tea under the trees. I would see the same child lifted up by his mother to catch the water and the same Paris lovers hang all over each other and my head spins around and you ask me what's wrong. I say nothing again as my head spins around and the water is falling into the child's small glass again. Everything is still happening. I will never get out of here, make it back to the West. My head spins around and you ask me what's wrong. The tea is too sweet and the smells are too strong. I believe we are trapped under pieces of the too blue sky. The child's glass is not full yet. We will have to drink tea here forever and you will have to watch me worsen, turn into a shadow.