by Herb Ellis • Remo Palmer

1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

♫

{ THE GIRL'S POV }

it's the night of christmas eve.

/ 𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖕.𝖒. /

i sit in 𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖆, with my old sketchbooks and

collections of 𝖕𝖔𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖞. winter falls outside

the glass, the glass that reflects the

warm lights in the 𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖆

[ the jazz music tastes like 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖘 under

the rising of bittersweet moons, tainted

with 𝖗𝖊𝖉 and 𝖌𝖔𝖑𝖉 and 𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖉. the piano

music feels like summer raindrops,

raining down like the echoing thumps

of unsteady heartbeats. a 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉

beat constantly threads through the music,

the music of 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖐𝖞 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖟𝖊 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖘 ]

i sip on 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖎 𝖙𝖊𝖆, i sip on autumn dreams

and 11:11 moments (in winter). and i waited

for you, and waited.

there are people in the cafe. of smiling

faces shining like faded moons. families

are happy tonight. children are singing

silly nursery rhymes. people are in love,

tonight.

and i am only the 𝖕𝖊𝖔𝖕𝖑𝖊 𝖜𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌.

/ 𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖞-𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖕.𝖒. /

[ the jazz music fades me away to

the edge of the solar system, passing by

𝖏𝖚𝖕𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖘 and 𝖕𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖔'𝖘 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐.

fades me away, into meadows of starlight,

fades me away, into 𝖋𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖌𝖎𝖆.

fades me away, so i forgot that i was

waiting for someone, my heart vulnerable,

and foolish, and human ]

/ 𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖕.𝖒. /

the people in the cafe start leaving,

one by one by one. walking with

warm scarves wrapped around them

like home. walking into the cold gray

𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖞𝖆𝖗𝖉 of winter, with spring blooming

in their fever love eyes

/ 𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞-𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖕.𝖒. /

why am i here? when i told you i wouldn't be?

why aren't you here? when you said you would?

/ 𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖕.𝖒. /

i wait for you. i wait for you.

the jazz music makes reality feel

less colder. it makes me hopeful.

there are so many things i want to ask you.

why do you like jazz? why do you like music?

and why do you keep tormenting me?

/ 𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖕.𝖒. /

the floor is of 𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖊 and 𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖊 square tiles.

it's lovely, so so lovely. it's like a

garden, indoors. a greenhouse of poetry

and dreams and 𝖜𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖘.

[ the jazz music paints streaks of

paint in my mind, like 𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖊𝖘 flying

across the sky and leaving sky sea tides behind.

the piano notes sounds so saccharine that

it hurts deeply inside. hurts like that time

on the rooftop with you, of 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖒𝖓

𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 with you ]

there's something pulling me into

another world, in my head. a 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌

out and taking reality away. and i am

falling at the speed of sound, into

a 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘 sleep. i am so tired.

[ fading ]

[ further fading ]

[ oh winter, fade me away ]

/ 𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝖕.𝖒. /

"hey girl, we'll be closing now,"

slowly the world comes into focus,

as i wake from the gray 𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖚𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

of faded and disoriented dreams

the music is now gone. i look up.

there is kindness in the waiter's eyes.

i check the time. it's 11:11.

if wishes weren't only a childhood illusion,

i would have wished you were there. but

it was foolish of me, waiting for you here,

in the 𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖆. the cafe of fleeting moments

of us, fleeting moments of 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌, fleeting

moments of poetic conversations at the line

between 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖒𝖓'𝖘 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖇𝖞𝖊 and 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔.

i collect my sketchbooks and poetry

collections, stepping out into the cold street.

in the winter snow, i've never felt as 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖞.

as i walk, hot tears turn cold on my cheeks

in the 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙. and i realize how tired

i am, how foolish i am. the liar i am. and,

how tired of waiting i am.

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °