The Jazz with You

I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything; without having to confess how I stand in the shower for over an hour holding the soap, waiting for your call: if you don't call I'm not leaving the shower

I want to tell you about the first time I saw you without confessing to you

you made me hear jazz for the first time

With memories of burning alive on Madison Avenue in heightened anticipation to see you on Halloween, in San José and Tulum, and all the jazz I didn’t hear in New York because I wanted to hear it with you

I only want to listen to jazz with you

The golden spins of reality only I could see when I think of you,

the sudden splash of joy that I even know you

Visions, sensations, adorations, ecstasies and an empty Los Angeles road - I’m with you in all of the cities in the world

Days go by, no phone call yet. I run out of hot water so I stand in the cold,

frozen and hopeless. I am a mess of conflicting impulses - I am independent but I also want to belong and share this ever-shrinking world. As the world shrinks, I expand.

'Why live a life?' We are too afraid of ourselves, of what we are capable of, embarrassed of our naïveté and ability to love;

we are afraid to dig deeper and find something we would be uncomfortable with - the ugliness and darkness of our souls, the silly happiness and laughter we don’t deserve

I quickly put on the dress you like as you ring my doorbell - these are the moments I choose to live my life for. You can normally tell why I’m about to burst into tears but this time you can’t tell: am I still hurt, or do I know

that you love me too. One day the world will no longer be mysterious.