rainy day dream away...

Last night I had a dream that I was in love with a jazz musician. No one in particular, but everyone at the same time. By the hazy light at the Vernon Jazz Club and the sweet sounds of his trumpet echoing out into the night, I smoked a cigarette and tried to appear indifferent but my foot kept tapping. I knew that by the light of day that we were nothing, has-beens, never-will-be's, but I didn't care.

He looked like Buddy Holly and I was in love. He wore a silly hat and his pants were too big. He was constantly pushing up his glasses. He could play the sax, the drums, the trumpet and he could sing. Oh, could he sing. His voice was sweet and slow and though I pretended not to be transfixed, I was drunk like a bee on pollen. Off stage he was awkward and neurotic but on stage he was cocky and yet still slightly laissez-faire.

I danced alone, wishing he was beside me but this was what happened when you fell in love with a musician. I knew the morning would come and he'd smell like stale cigarettes and beer and he wouldn't want to get a day job and I wouldn't blame him.

I awoke from this dream and his face had disappeared. Lost, like the name of your first roommate in college whose face you swore you'd always remember but now can't, on the tip of your tongue. He was sweet and I loved him. It was raining outside and then it was time to get up.