The Chelsea bridge is lit up in the distance as we walk, talk and bathe in silence. My heels are horse’s hooves adding an instrumental to the night
You
you look so special tonight
With your grandad’s suit on from the 80s. Your ruby red tie. And shirt, and locs, and that highlighter pink Casio you always have strapped on
Though what looks best is your eyes
Those comforting eyes that take me back to the very first time. Discussing life and pigeons. Dreams and Amy,
over waxy candlelight.
Clip clop on concrete, until we reach the secret door. Doorbell rings and a smile welcomes us to the floor. Of a jazz club that looks like it’s been plucked,
straight outta New Orleans.
Holiday and Dylan adorn the walls. Parisian café chairs squeak authentically
as we order our pot of tea.
The Harpist begins her magic. Tugs at the tight strings, with the gentleness of a Jain. You must have learnt it from her
how to tug at my heart, so effortlessly.
The rush of the drum gives me whiplash, and as the rhythm begins to develop, I’m reminded of the times I’ve felt drumming in my soft tummy,
just from your company.
Your sweet, sweet words, and let me cliché here by saying they drip of honey,
right onto my lips.
Deeper than the bass is our countless conversations about anything and everything. Anything and everything has never been as precious, as it is now.
The tea in your cup is probably ice cold by now. Still. Your eyes, your body, your mind fixate on the soul.
Behind dark mahogany, the man tickles those ivories and all I see is you and me,
Running through the streets of Central playing Hide and Seek.
Illustration by the wonderful Eugenia Loli
