Music composed and performed by Risa Peris
(though love is a song played with a smile)
I was busking in Paris near The Louvre. My friend, a man from Marseilles with shiny, smooth skin the color of a pecan, was busking with me. He played the guitar and sang and I accompanied him on the violin. I knew none of the French songs he was singing, but he sang them with a husky passion. Like a wolf in heat.
(though our singing is our soul)
We did very well gathering an audience. We played until dusk and counted out the money. Forty Euros.
“We can buy a pizza and two glasses of red wine. Then in the morning we can share some Brie. We will have just enough.,” said Louis.
I had some money in my bank account. “Don’t worry about breakfast. We shall have omelettes and fruit with hunks of bread. I will pay.”
Louis’s eyes sparkled. “You’re a good man, Will. And a good violin player.”
(though friendship lasts if you are considerate)
“Are we going back to hostel before pizza?” I asked Louis.
“Not yet. There’s a party tonight. Follow me.”
We walked for five blocks and then entered a very old building. Inside the walls were gray and the floor and staircase were black and worn. I could hear music. We climbed the stairs and weaved through people with beer mugs and wine glasses. Many were chatting quietly and occasionally sipping. However, a few were staring at the middle of the room where an angel sat dressed in black leather. Her hair was black too and she had ringlets piled haphazardly on top of her head. I could tell her eyes were dark even with a large light illuminating her. She was playing the guitar and singing in English. She was singing of a black sea, a black heart, and a black jewel. To me she throbbed in shades of red. The song was very lovely and I took out my violin and stepped into the light to accompany her. She beamed at me and then winked.
(though love is sometimes just a gesture)
As the song ended our eyes locked and I could feel, in that one instance, all the beautiful turmoil of sex. She hugged me. Her breath smelled of something green – like spinach – and Chardonnay. In that moment we lived a lifetime that would never be repeated. She slinked off and away. I went to the stairwell but did not see her.
(though you cry when lovely things end)
“Fucking hell, Louis. I just met the love of my lifetime.”
Louis laughed. “It was just a moment. Come. Drink wine with a smile and know your life will be filled with many more moments.”
(though some moments never repeat)
THE END