Rosa lies on the floor.
Rosa always lies on the floor.
An undefined smile, legs up, white curls spread out around her face, she looks like a painting. She might be tired, or she’s meditating, or maybe she’s thinking, it’s never quite obvious what’s going on.
I actually think she just likes the floor a lot.
Nina is next to her, she loves life with her eyes closed. Either behind her drums on stage, listening to music in the car or on a sofa in the backstage. You think she sleeps, but she’s observing, always. She knows if you’re in love with someone before you know it yourself. She knows if you’re hiding sadness behind hysterical laughing. She knows everything.
The moment we start the car in Amsterdam, we enter a different universe. A world of driving for hours, unpacking, packing, traffic jams, playing newly discovered music as loud as the shitty speakers of the car will let you, unpacking again, carrying suitcases, cuddling a random cat, searching for parking spots, rosemary-salt crackers with humus and avocado falling upside down in the backseat, houses of old friends full of love and midnight piano improvisations.
I love this life in between places. It’s a no man’s land where different laws apply, where you can hide in plain sight, where you’re never sure what will happen next.
