Someone will play what follows on the bridge. Ben Webster, maybe… He could do it the right way. So everything bursts with closeness, but not drowns in emotions. So that it stays bearable. He could do it while his breath disappears in the melody, and his whisper transforms into supreme tones.
A woman stands on the bridge. On the same spot, on that bridge, there have been many departures. Nobody ever concluded why. I notched by accident, led by my own experience. And then I started to run. I never blinked, and the bizarre hobby had already become everything that I am now. I saw off departing broken hearts, granting them music.
I wouldn’t mind that this melody of the night is played by somebody else. Maybe Coleman Hawkins. But no Gerry Mulligan. I leave him for the dawn. Again and again, for the sunrise that we will also turn into one day.