COCO'S

17

Cloe Marín

Frank Ocean, Fleetwood Mac, Kanye West, Aaliyah, Billy Joel, Hozier, Shania Twain, The Lumineers, The Goo Goo Dolls, Carole King, Aerosmith, George Michael, Lana del Rey...And so on.

Those are some of the names Harry has played me today.

It's not that I have never heard of them, but it was never my type of music. Truthfully, everything that he has played, has been very good. He has an immaculate music taste, I have to give him that. I mean, he is a songwriter after all.

We are currently laying down on our backs in his apartment's floor, right next to the record player as it plays a vinyl by Kanye West, I remember he told me it was called The Life of Pablo.

Harry told me that he was in the studio where the first track of this album, Ultralight Beam, and he spent his entire day listening to it being made, and after they finished it, he didn't like it. He told me it was one of the first times he thought he could do better than someone.

I have lost track of time completely, I have no idea what hour it is or how many hours we have been here, but I don't think I care much.

I look over at him, but he was already looking back at me. I forget what I was going to say.

He looks so pretty today, it is so effortlessly that it makes me mad, how can he be so attractive without wanting to? His entire persona attracts me, but his mind, when he is being vulnerable, is the most attractive thing he has.

Harry is so innocently smart.

I could ask him a million questions and not get tired to hear him.

I am not...falling for him...am I?

"I have so many questions..." I trail off without realizing I am talking.

He frowns, "About this record?"

"No, about you in general," I admit, "How do you.. inspire yourself to write an entire song? It just comes at you?"

Harry smiles, a sweet smile forming in his lips, "It depends, I've written songs in ten minutes, in months, or songs I've never finished. It's all about inspiration, you cannot really force it," He explains, "There are metaphors that you hear on other songs and think, fuck that's exactly what I wanted to say. That's one of the goals on my music, to make people feel like that."

I nod, "Yeah, I understand...so who do you think is the best lyricist of our generation? Don't say you." I chuckle.

He laughs, "Wow, that's a difficult question. In this album, Mike Dean is one of the main songwriters, he is so good...It's a dream of mine to work with him." He sighs. "But not the best, I mean, Freddie Mercury, John Lennon, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen...there are so many."

"I do know those ones," I smile.

Harry chuckles, "We've been talking so much about me, what is your favorite song? Album?" He asks, "Artists? Lyricists?"

"What I usually listen to is completely different," I shake my head, "And in Spanish."

"Show me." He quickly replies. "I have so many questions about you too."

This feels so intimate, I don't know how to describe it. Lately, I have been feeling like whenever I am around him, I am emotionally naked. I have no idea why.

"Okay," I smile and as fast as I can, I stand up from the floor, I extend my hand to him, "C'mon."

He takes my hand, boosting himself to stand, "Where are we going?"

"Take a bottle of wine and I'll meet you in the garage in ten," I simply respond, turn around and walk to the front door, "We're taking your car."

I don't let him reply or ask anything as I rush to my house, ready to take my favorite cassettes, since I know one of Harry's cars has a player for tapes. I take four tapes.