Some other woman stands on the bridge. And the played night has arrived. I was standing there, where she stands, when I left you. Or you left me. Leaving me with a selective memory.
I don’t care about your selection, in my head the melodies of the bridge were played by Coleman Hawkins and Eddie Davis, the Night Hawk album. The record that we found together, in the first days of our revealing, in the nights of hunger and insatiability. Then I didn’t know why it mattered to me, but it was clear that I had to find a place on your body and in my thoughts in every note. For the travel that always scared me. For the leaving, as a defence against leaving. For the night birds and smoky bars in which I never dared to enter alone. Neither did you. You were always a bigger coward and madman. Those are your territories, there you remain invincible.
And I care about your lessons. I know that even now when I disappear, you would have no problem holding a lecture about how Coleman Hawkins, Lester Young and Ben Webster are kings of tenor saxophone, how they had invented it and placed in every corner of what id counted. Now when it is late, you can’t stop my attention with Webster’s lyrics of the swing. I am the one who chooses the music of disappearance!