A blues love affair
by Kristina Dimovska
There are those mornings when everything is perfect, from the first steps on the cold floors, to the first breeze of fresh air. This was one of those mornings, seized between a total delirium and a smile. Still under the blanket, I decided this should be my morning, because unlike all the other mornings, this one smelled like vanilla. The perfect morning, it seemed it would snow, yet at the same time the sun rays glued me to the huge windows in the living room.
“I should change this old wooden floor” - I thought to myself – “it makes too much noise”. And that was when my thoughts started to wander way back, to another beautiful morning…
* * *
They run into one another once. He was walking, she was rushing. They mumbled something, without saying a word to each other. They missed running into one another so many other times.
He was thinking about something, she was rushing. They run onto one another again, in the middle of the circle, but missed running into one another, at some other time, at that same circle.
Ah, the butterflies… they tangled in the belly, through the stomach they headed towards the lips and projected into a smile. One should consume them several times a day, without any particular time frame, possibly with blues playing in the background, something like Ray Charles. First note: a sigh, then a break. Second note: English tea and a peacock’s feather. Then break again. A classical love at first sight story, in a narrow street somewhere in Italy or France, maybe. Than it would start raining, you know, the cliché romance. But why blues exactly? Don’t ask me, really, just try to feel it because it will move every cell in your body, it will get you out of bed, and it will speed up your blood pressure. You cannot explain blues; you simply feel it through the energy that shakes up your knees and shoulders, through the smell of morning dew and the spring sunset views.
It was one of those moments when I was staggering on my way home. I had so much to tell, if only I could have gathered some strength to open my mouth and speak up. To tell the stories about all the lovers in the world that fall asleep and wake up next to each other; about the world and all its unfairness, about all the pain and all the sorrow; the stories about dark rooms and glittering pens. But it wouldn’t matter, because my thoughts were going nowhere, they were only piled up in a plate on the coffee table.
When I finally managed to get home, I went next to the window and stood there, staring at the building across the street, at the only room that still had the lights turned on. And I realized it was all fine. I knew I was safe because he had hidden me in some dark part of his clothes so I stay there, untouched, pure and with nothing to hurt me. I had fallen asleep on the couch…
The next morning I decided to go out and eat cake and then eat some more. Because, of course, those that like cake should try all the different cakes until they find the one they like the most. Everybody needs somebody anyway. Instead of evoking small scale memories from photos and talks, everybody should have somebody, you can’t play tango alone. So yes, that morning I was looking for my favorite cake. Somewhere half through the day I almost gave up. But then I accidentally wandered in a dead-end street and noticed a small cake shop. There was an old man playing blues on a piano inside so I sat down on a table in the corner and ordered the most chocolate cake of all. It was perfect; just like that April’s morning. Every bite was perfect, so soft, sweet... That was it, my search was over.
* * *
My phone rang just as I realized I might have been staring across the window for a bit too long. I should start getting ready. I walked in the bedroom to get dressed, and there he was. He had crumbs of sky on his belly that I wanted to reach them. He had cinnamon and vanilla scent and I wanted to smell him. He kept rain drops on his palms so I wanted to steal them. The crumbs of sky, the smell and the rain drops - I spilled all of them on a piece of paper and went to play blues.
As I stepped out of the building with a gigantic smile, I swear I could hear my favorite blues vinyl playing on the gramophone in the apartment. It started snowing, the first snow that year. It was perfect, and I knew I was still there with you, locked in some dark part of your clothes so I stay there, untouched, pure and with nothing to hurt me.
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