I was going to wait till I was ready to do this, but can you ever be ready to feel the cracks in your being ignite?
I don’t like fires and this current one is burning to the rhythm of Chris Brown’s Say Goodbye, the irony? I am not ready to say goodbye. The truth? Chris Brown was right; it never could be the right time to say goodbye. So, this is not really goodbye, this is a soundtrack to the way my heart beats for you.
Easy like a Sunday morning, but make it a person. You, you are it.
I am in the shower, and you’ve finally taken over the playlist. Kanye is playing, but the volume isn’t booming because you somehow have an aversion to loud music, the bass has never been for you.
Kanye gets you going, you find amusement in his cockiness so by the time I am done showering and I am messing around with my face on the sink, you’ve replayed like three songs five times so I can hear what he says here and here and here and here.
Is thing on shuffle?
I’m singing along to All of The Lights and, lowkey, Fade because I like Teyana Taylor’s abs but I am safe in knowing the only person that owes us abs is you, and even then, not really. That back is killer though.
A couple of weeks later, you cue Kanye via text.
“Where’s the lyric babe?”
Frank Ocean on loop.
There are two ways to do dishes; lost in your thoughts or with music playing, with your back to the door, knowing the person that has your back might walk in and touch your back for a second…. or 5.
Channel Orange on loop; Sierra Leone and Thinkin About You playing more than anything else. But how could they not? You don’t particularly like white people and I stay Thinkin About You. I’ve been thinking about forever, did you not think so far?
You’re hella smart but you still thought I was cool enough to kick it with and that floors me every time I think about you… it won’t ever get old.
How is it you’d never heard Swim Good though?
We are supposed to be watching Netflix. You got to the couch before me, I was off doing something. Why am I almost always off doing something? You’re on YouTube while you wait and when I show up, invade your space, we don’t switch.
Your legs on my thighs are heavy. They are always a good kind of heavy. We should get to Netflix now, but we don’t. I say something, you say something and then you’re telling me about Panic at the Disco!’s breakup. I thought they’re still a band, but then I haven’t listened to them (him now I guess) in ages.
You’re excited about this one, I can tell. Not that you are trying to hide…
The black and white reminds me of how you say ‘right’ and the face you make when you say ‘nope’.
We are silent till the end, then we hit replay. When we finally move on, I think he’s so sad, so sexy though.
You get so pensive sometimes but so oh so sexy.
The Weeknd and a whole lot of Lana Del Rey
A whole lot of sad with a sprinkle of Cocky.
I didn’t forget her album release date, you couldn’t let me if you tried… and now every cateye I pull off reminds me of you and those Blue Jeans, just before you pull a t-shirt over your head.
I hate talking at night, especially if I’m cold. My voice does a thing and you used to suggest I cough… now you just laugh and play me Kwesta’s Spirit. So, I play it on some mornings when I need a pick me up; when I miss you.
On one of those mornings, you send Chris Martin’s Stepping and we get hyped to ratchet music.
I haven’t brought myself to listen to Blink 182’s California, it might take a while now, I guess. But the one thing I don’t have to guess is that 4 song playlist aka the title to that Carly Rae Jepsen. I hate that you beat me to it.
(Do you think Post Malone really doesn’t shower ama people are just hating?)
How do I say goodbye when every time I hear a Kikuyu accent in a Sailors’ song, I remember your laugh? How do I say goodbye when my eyes, they pour? I don’t know how to, so while I figure that out, I’ll write and the next time you’re on Mombasa Road, you’ll play Icon (living) twice and maybe think of me?
So Sad, So Sexy,
The Chaka Chaka to your Officer Stone