Jardin of the Mind and Heart

“There exists clashing pangs that reverberate between my bullet and chamber. Sitting at the table outside of the café, I could feel my leg fall asleep and escape from the dead-set conflict. How, despite being a part of the same vessel, can there be such… Yearnings, consisting of such empty paths aligned by the flowers of bold promises and blurred people who had spoken as conquistadors of introspection. By all means, this path does not even exist, I am not sure if it is even a path. It is as confusing and as ugly as a modern art masterpiece. The circle of conception and interest has certainly enclosed to the point that we now see rings on the canvas, floating in a foreign space that undoubtedly occupies us.”
Such confusion. The day had been so dashing, yet now, our main character began to be picked apart by himself. Perhaps a change of scene is in order.
Walking down Rue d’Assas, he passed by the lycée at which he had been studying that summer. Turning to the left and crossing the road, past Rue Guynemer, he walked past the gates to Jardin du Luxembourg. At the moment, gently protected by the lush deep green trees of the garden from the coarse sun, he slowly but surely made his way along the gravel towards the fountain the rested within the heart.
As the aligned trees led to an opening, once again the entity strongest dans l’été scorched and tore away at his skin, as if desperately trying to reach the innards. Exposing, especially at the top of his crown, the mind that would sizzle upon exposure to the real world. Yet, there the fountain was.
He rushed towards it, seeing that a gentlemen had just gotten off one of the reclining chairs. Claiming the seat for his own, he quickly made himself comfortable and directed his covered eyes towards the fountain. But, he wanted to see the fountain without the awful tint; he took his sunglasses off.
The surface of the water was covered by wooden toy boats, each hoisting their own colors. Overlooking the fountain was the Palais du Luxembourg, a foreboding building, each individual brick a romantic sentiment, all adding to the luxury of culture. The mind was an excellent thing for creating such a beautiful building. But to give the mind all the credit is unfair.
As it stood, daunting and proud, in its sight, the jewel that accompanies its presence, the fountain, remained littered with boats till the very sky began to darken as the sun began to fall asleep.
The children, in all their ignorance and happiness, were controlling their little vessels, making them dance upon the spirit of the Jardin.