Your warmth next to me is reassuring, solid and a reminder to keep myself in the moment. I have a tendency to drift, to dream, to whirl and sink in my own world. You keep me from being ensnared too tightly, an anchor to hold me down when I am straining to drift.

And yet, your warmth is something I forget, even as I keep my eyes trained on what is in front of me. Your knee gently bumps against mine, and I can imagine I can feel your leg unconsciously thumping with the jazz beat. Feel that soul? I can almost hear you think. You've always had that soft spot for jazz.

I forget that you are there for a moment, and I move ever so slightly. My shoulder no longer brushes yours, and my leg is suddenly cooler, almost naked as I move it to expose it to the cool air. I suddenly feel weaker, as though I'm missing something- so I move back, and my fingers are again inches from yours, my shoulder is again pressed against yours, and again, our knees bump slightly against each other. And I am reassured that you are there, that you will always be there- so I turn to smile at you and whisper something in your ear, something inane about the dancers, and you smile, inclining your neck further to hear me. 

We share a laugh together, and then it's back to watching. But we never move, and so it stays that way until we both leave- an unspoken agreement to friendship.

"marching bands of manhattan", death cab for cutie