Maybe, baby.

by Gela


We would listen to J. Cole and Weezy on hot summer nights, Coldplay and Damien Rice when it rains. Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole during the holidays, you know what actually all year round. Duke Ellington and Billie Holliday to wind down to. Plan our rendezvous to Paris, live at the Louvre and argue about Michelangelo and DaVinci. Drink bitter coffee and eat sweet pastries. Maybe we don’t make it to Paris. And so we just drive. Anywhere. Everywhere. Wherever the road takes us. Laugh. Laugh a lot. Park somewhere underneath the stars. Talk about great movies, and shitty ones too, and converse about what is love and what are our fears. All the while never really taking our eyes off of each other. That look that goes down inside somewhere deeper than what your brain can actually process. Soulmates. Maybe even love.