The Notebook And The Chocolat Chaud!

I Write to you unwritten songs of a life almost lived.

And the Capital is alive. But it seems, it is only I who has lost her voice.

If we are not destined to meet, may I, at least, Finish writing one of those unfinished songs.

And The Chocolat must always be served Chaud, Mildred.

Or so I am told.