That distinctive but familiar Mexican rhythm beats over and over again as the singer’s voice wails during the chorus and then falls into a steady kind of endurance round. The bass guitar keeps it all in once piece, doom, doom, doom, doom. Just earlier, a violin was being played, each note strung slow and careful.
But tonight feels special. The air is sweet, the charm of summer has taken me in and I can’t get enough of its scent. I’m attracted to its loveliness in the hopes that I’ll latch onto its black wings and fly off into the starry horizon. I find my table in the garden of my favorite café and lay my things down as I stare up into the twilit sky, my spirits soaring with each gust of summer wind that caresses me. How could any one be inside right now? It’s too beautiful not to enjoy something sweet and spicy. To sit out and think. To ponder. To take pleasure.
Oh, you. A reminder of what I’ve missed for so long. The spark in my head. Perhaps I love the idea of you as it inspires me. You’ve lit another path I would explore. You’ve ignited that tiny flame in me that will rise ever higher as I keep going. The best part is that I don’t mind that it may all be blown out of proportion, that it’s my way of being creative in bringing about abundance from something so small. It couldn’t feel more right. So long as the idea of you is there, I have enough to create my canvas. Enough to paint with. You, handsome soul, are my muse.
Los Angeles, I’m yours.