So a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in my usual office/coffee-shop and just as I was about to leave I noticed a handsome tourist sitting at a table nearby. He was staring at me with his beautiful dark eyes (I’d say he was italian or spanish but I’m not so sure). I knew he was a tourist because he had maps and travel guides in front of him. Every time I looked his way (and I did a few times because I’m flirty as fuck) he stared right into my eyes. As I left the coffee-shop, I smiled at him. He followed me with his eyes and even when I got outside I felt his glance upon me. I looked back one more time, he was still looking my way but I just kept going. “The last thing you need is an affair with a tourist, girl” I said to myself.

Today, on my way home, I saw a handsome boy on the train. He had these eyes of a small forest animal, eyes that follow lights and shapes so eagerly and childishly that you can get lost in the kaleidoscope of glances. He got off a couple of stops before me. He looked back at me through the window and I looked at him. As the train moved, our eyes met again and I was almost smiling. But the train can not be stopped even if a boy is prince charming in disguise. „The last thing you need is a daydream about a passenger on the train, girl“ I said to myself. So tell me, what‘s the first thing I need? Or you can tell me about the hustle. The joy, the fear, the drama. Because I hapened to forget about it. I love a world of fantasies. The soundtrack of my life is something in between Duke Ellington‘s solo in a sweaty jazz club and a song playing during kisses in the movies of the 40s. I‘m a funny combination between a singer in a bar full of smoke and a naive Disney princess. As I‘m writing this I‘m singing „In a sentimental mood“ and Duke is accompanying me with his sexy sax. And „in this sentimental bliss you make my paradise complete“. Sigh. Who are you? Where are you? You were a boy in London, you were the sexy model wannabe in the Apls, you were the radio boy, you were the guy who danced his way from my bedroom to the kitchen. Who are You now? Are you available tonight? I read what I write out loud. And this „Are you availabe tonight“ ended with a chuckle. It is funny isn‘t it? You. And Me. Us. We‘re funny. We‘re an idea. Platonic redness. Platonic passion. Platonic bliss. Qualities without forms. Are you around to protect me? My skin‘s soft. You‘d like it. A lot.

I could play you something on the piano. Play you a song in blue notes. And I could sing you some blues. Because if there‘s something I can do — singing blues is that. Maybe it‘s because I‘m sad. And You‘re somewhere. And we could. Oh, we could really dance.