an archive of jazz scribbled on #PostIts

from a while ago

Not a meet cute. A modern day dating app match. Two hours of texting and let’s meet. We hit a pub for lunch. A pizza; chicken and cheese, two pints of Heineken. I follow you to the smoking room, good company, you say. My first cigarette, then two, three and five. A single day, a single date, conversations of a lifetime. You play base for a band. I write. You love that I write. You ask if I’ll go over at yours later. I’ve lied to my mother to come see you. I can’t stay any longer. You seem fun and I kinda want to, but I cannot, I should not. I am conflicted, I say no, act pricey and uptight when I want to be loose and shallow. I go home. You tell me I was an energy and you want to meet again. Collaborate. You’d play guitar and I’d write songs. Dave and Greta, could we? You ask me out for a punk rock gig. I’d have to lie to my mother again and I’m moving to a new city next week and I don’t like you like that
. I want to go. But I don’t like you like that. You know? You know. There was once a boy who gave me a Begin Again card. You don’t even know it is my favourite movie. I find myself reading our first-date texts three years later, in a city further away from you, wishing it was a meet-cute.

from a little later

Like I met you, did you ever meet someone and feel inspired? A self-proclaimed comedian, you looked curious. I was a tag-along. It was nice to be out of focus for once. A background to your performance. I liked to watch from the sides. You were sloppy but with top-notch puns that cracked me up every time. I was in a new city, alone and curious. You were a resident, eager to show me around. I became that girl before I knew it. You paid for expensive vegan dinners by the bay, shared my interest in films, so I pretended. It was so inconsequential that I don’t even remember. One night I kissed someone from work because these things happen when you’re floating above the commitment chaos. You’d agree if you saw the world from my lens. But you chose to fly a few thousand miles away and keep in touch because you were a fool. On the other side of the world, I met the love of my life. But that’s another story, for another time.

late evening in august

Curled up with you, my thigh on top of yours, feet alternating below the warm sheets. We’re sleeping on our right. Your left arm on my waist, right arm under my neck. I shift, rest my head on it. My back and your chest, flat, like glued. You pull me in tighter, I don’t move, worried you’ll pull away. You spiral into a deep sleep, I am falling in and out of it. When I’m awake under my shut eyes, I imagine us on an album cover, top view of two people sleeping like commas intertwined, nooks, curves and corners fitting together like a solved puzzle. I make a mental note to write about it later while you lucid dream about getting a sandwich for lunch.

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