Summer House

The coffee was steaming on the small living room table. Without thinking, I take the pen and sit down in front of the record player. I listen to the melody that pushes me to observe the new analogue photographs that are included in your new album, and I fly. I fly to a warm place that doesn’t exist. Where the smell of orange blossom is in the air and our skin feels slightly damp from the afternoon sun. We do things or, rather, we make decisions that we know will have bad consequences. But, it doesn’t matter right now, because we like it and we enjoy it. And we laugh, we laugh out loud, with laughter that reaches the sky.

Our hair soaring with the combination of speed and wind in the middle of the desert.

I press the «start» and the vinyl starts spinning again. History repeats itself.

We dance in the kitchen and enjoy the contrast between the warmth of our bare feet and the cold of the tiles. The crickets, stridulate (grill/sing) creating our own soundtrack in the middle of the night. Or maybe it’s the tiny frogs, which inhabit the little lake we visit every morning. When we exchange glances across the table, we talk to each other and say: “Our friends are a bit tipsy”, “Melissa’s red cheeks give her away”, “and have you noticed that Nick is talking faster?”… We look down, returning to the real world.

You get shy when I tell you that I love how the sun shines on your hair and soft golden reflections begin to appear. Summer has begun, I think. And I feel a fire on my face when you tell me how you like my ruffled dresses. You say it lightly, lying on the green grass in the garden. Melissa interrupts you by splashing us with pool water and I appreciate it.

From time to time, you take my hand and I feel like you’re leading me over the edge, again and again. When we stop, you ask me, in disbelief, where I come from, «Well, when a mother and father love each other very much…», you don’t let me finish, you roll your eyes and say «impossible», laughing, wrinkling your nose.

We hear each other even when we don’t speak, we look at each other even when our eyes are closed and we feel even without touching each other.

I take photographs.

We kiss behind walls, hiding like teenagers and we suspect our friends do too. And life feels like a breeze, which moves, moulds and is welcomed. I observe you, I look at you and say: as if you were a universe, you are infinite. You gently push me, and I fall into the pool. Reflex act of a shame that wants to be hidden.

When Melissa talks to me when we’re sunbathing, I don’t listen to her. Because I find myself thinking about the nostalgia, I feel for moments that haven’t ended yet. I take a photo of you in the distance, a melody occurs to me and that night I hum it to you under the moonlight that enters through the window of our room. That last night. Like this last song on the album where appears the melody, that keeps everything lived in that place that does not exist.