I must confess - ever the cynic - I am way over the search for romance and the perfect man.
Apparently French musicians (who come with chateaus and beach villas inclusive) may or may not only exist in Paris.
But there's alot more to be said about lovers.
Ah lovers! Those seedy chance 'encounters'! That illicit affair! And pourquoi?
Tucked away in the August-September issue of Russh (lifesaver if ever there was one) - I stumbled upon an old McGinley snap of the late Dash Snow blissfully engaged in a bit of carnal pleasuring (as many a friend of mine likes to term it). And it has me feeling both nostalgic and inspired. Ah lovers. The intimacy. The slightly shameful smiles. Staring at the floor and mumbling a response to the question, 'So, what have you two been up to?' The devious knowing conspiratorial glances across a room. The unexplained 'disappearances'. The encounters which seem permanently set to the soundtrack of 70s folk-rock (probably just me). Bed hair that is just perfect. Where there's a story behind that messed up outfit. The shared morning after coffee. The forgotten item of clothing.
Yes, I just walked out wearing your shirt.
And touche, I will pick up my bra.
It could be once. It could be forever.
Maybe later.
I'll be back for more.
Love (and I mean it)
xx
Bec
