Smooth Jazz

Sitting in a coffee shop in the village. There is frost around the corners of the window panes. It isn’t too crowded or too empty. The quiet murmurs somehow fill the room, and just behind them is the saxophone playing over the speakers.

The city outside still moves at its normal speed, but in here the jazz seems to dictate the pace of life and pace of conversation.

The cushions on the couch you share sink in deeply and hug you both together as gravity slowly forces you to the middle of the seat. Neither of you mind.

She has an old Agatha Christie novel with dog-eared pages…and you don't know what you have. The book is in your hand but your mind is on here and now. Her and now.

You wish the music could do more than just slow the passing time, but if only freeze it — take a snapshot to hold onto forever. This place and this mood. They come every so often but when they do all you want is to preserve it. The comfort and underlying happiness from that comfort. Being home away from home.

You stare back and forth from the outside, where a light snow has begun to fall, to her reading her book. She can tell you aren't reading anymore so she looks up to see what has gathered your attention and upon the sight of the snow a silent grin spreads across both your faces. A joy that doesn’t require verbal confirmation. The coffee shop maintains its quiet self as you both now stare out the window instead of your books.

This moment is the feeling you want forever. In that moment you can picture the rest of your lives.

And after God knows how long… the moment ends and she begins to pack her bag. It’s only fair. You shared a coffee shop couch for a moment, not a lifetime of love.
She adjusts her jacket, still silent, and waves with her pinky finger — the most delicate goodbye you've ever seen.
And with that she walks out the door.

Time slows once again and you saw the entire life you'd pictured begin to fade as the view of her is blurred by the falling snow.
You sit for a moment — that’s all it takes. That’s all it should.
You leave the book — you weren't reading it anyways…and walk out into the snow…hoping you can catchup to that moment staring out the window…catchup to that snapshot of joy…catchup to her.