Wherever it is, it happens when the song plays. It can be a bar or at work, at friends’ home, on the street; anywhere. Doing whatever I do, whether simple or complicated. The song plays, even if it’s just the first notes. And it happens.
I happen to be there again, surrounded by cypress trees. With excitement shining in his chest and eyes. I take his hand, we look at each other. You smell lavender and sunny days, you smell tenderness. They look at us. Friendly smiles, complicit tears of joy. Little lights. That warm autumn breeze that has not yet given in to the cold. My mother always says that that day was an explosion of love.
Finish the song and I’ll be back. At the bar, at work, at home with friends, on the street. I’m back, but warmer. Because I’m back there, and I still smell the lavender.
