Loop

‘I don’t want much,’ she says as she takes your hand, runs her thumb over your knuckles, weaves magic into your skin, ‘I just want –’

But she stops, blushes. The radio crackles, Dusty Springfield’s voice replacing hers.

It always stops here. It is a moment that never ends but always starts. Evenings at the beach, late yet light. Picnics at the park, breezy and busy. Mornings in a cafe, empty, pleasant. 

Summer in the garden. The roses flourish in her silence, bloom in words left unsaid. 

‘I only want –’

Who is it that’s speaking as words bleed into words, bleed into beats and rhythms and dreams all intertwining and merging into a soundtrack of stewed emotions playing on and on and on…

You only want her to finish what she starts.