"It's all about the music" I thought. I don't remember now which song was, but when I heard it last night I thought I would remember today that it made me look at the floor and think "it's all about the music" and this small basement where everyone knows all the lyrics, this moment now, this sound is perfect. I looked down, the feet where moving in slow motion, appearing and disappearing with the light that would turn the wood of the floor yellow, and then blue, black and then red again. And I looked up, and the hands were in the air and all of them where singing "Just put your hands up, it's a raid yeah / We want your homes, we want your lives / We want the things you won't allow us / We won't use guns, we won't use bombs..." and I forgot about my week, the hard parts of it, and everything outside this basement, except that I'm in London, and I came all the way here from the other side of the world, to close my eyes as everyone else when "transmission" starts playing inside a dark basement where everyone knows the words of the song. It gets me every time, and as the decision of having a tattoo, I know it will get me every time, for the rest of my life.
Nico and I were dancing and dancing, and one guy who knew all the lyrics was watching us. "You like this kind of music" said to us with a smile. "You better look up for Future Islands on Youtube, on the video the guy dances like this" so he did the moves, going down to the floor and back up again while singing.
I looked at Michael and I thought about the ring in the water and how he pulled me out of the mud in that freezing afternoon by the river. He's one of the beautiful people who know all the lyrics, "I gotta buy him a beer"... But the bar was closed already, time to go, but I ended up pretending I lost a bet and giving him a £5 note instead (I'm joking, I really thought Alisson Mosshart was younger than 35)
Then we walked to Leicester Square, I couldn't feel the cold weather anymore and the lights of the street were beautiful as always. I met my friends from Quags and we ate cheesy chips and had beer and talked about love and work. Can't help talking about work, but is love I like talking about with them. "You need someone curious" Elodie said. Somewhere later in the conversation with her strong french accent "To me you are rock & roll" and that's one of the most beautiful things someone said about me, ever. So we talked about art and boys and laughter, someone mentioned laughter and I think, now that I'm writing about it, I'm glad I got to see you laughing a couple of times before you fade out of my life. "You are so serious" I told you once while you were making pasta, and you answered very seriously "I am".
And I laughed. I guess there are not many things I'm better at than laughing...
I found myself staring at your face, thinking I could easily say "I love you" but you wouldn't understand what I meant. I thought I might once say it without noticing and you would think I was crazy.
I woke up the next day, after you texted me explaining why you didn't want to see me anymore, listening to The Wave Pictures in my head all morning, "if you leave it alone..." And a blue calm joined me the next few days. I never looked as tired as those days though. I blamed the stress of work and the never ending journey home. But it might be the sudden melting of excitement.. Who knows...
You know Clement? Elodie asked. with no reason. And I remembered the unexpected eye contact while I was urging to meet the new Argentinian commis waiter. "Are you Argentinian" I asked him just because it was the very first time I saw him in the restaurant. He might have thought I was a crazy person. He doesn't look Argentinian at all. He just said "no" without even wondering what the hell I was talking about. Anyway the conversation is anecdotal but to be honest, it was that look, I closed the door behind me and thought he was beautiful. So I said to Elodie, "yes I know Clement, I thought he was Argentinian." She said she thinks he's a good guy.

And after the Casino, I felt so light walking through the dark early morning hours with Jonathan, just talking as we never did before. We shared a taxi that was driven by a lady who had to "take me to a tube station". We said goodbye in Finsbury Park.
While waiting for the bus home, a girl sitting next to me, with no much make up left on her beautiful face, started talking about how cold London was. "Colder than ever" she told me with her local accent. She spent all her life here she said, and she was going home after clubbing all night. It was 7:30 in the morning and she said "but I rather die cold than hot. I think I would suffer less"
I laughed, I thought that was a weird thing to say. And then she add "I never said that to anyone". I felt like she just gave me a deep secret as a gift. I went to the upper deck and she stayed downstairs. "Have a good night" she said. And I did. It took me 3 hours to get home but then I slept until 14:30 in my huge warm bed with my clothes on. And here I am having a long bath, listening to the music I like to dance to, in this house that was "mine" for just a few months, from the moment everything turned into chaos, sharing the poetry of my life with myself alone. This house where I learned that is free to be happy.
So I remembered Allen and I started to write. In English cause I hope you read and understand. How much you mean to me, beautiful stranger who knows all the lyrics.
"Poetry is that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making your private world public, that's what the poet does"
No plan is better for a Sunday than to sleep to the music you like to dance to. I'll cook something later and watch tv with my Lithuanian flatmate. Oh lonely London how guilty and unfair I feel when I say you are lonely. I hope you find love.