Seven years pass and we’re hand and hand again, meandering through the bustling streets of Detroit. A city with Miami’s flash, Cincinnati’s concrete bones, and old New York’s charisma.
That’s how Detroit feels to me, at least.
Just as before, we’re two souls out of hundreds that seek what we seek: a glimpse at the artist behind the albums that make us feel something.
And I can’t help but to feel something for you too, more than I did seven years ago when our secret trip to Detroit was made of the same magic you see in movies. Or fantasies.
We’re home now, the fifth home we’ve claimed in these fleeting seven years. The sounds of last night reverberating through our veins, the deafening energy refusing to fade in the silence of our home.
And we steal knowing glances at one another overtop the kids’ tousled hair—we’ll remember last night years from now, the same way we remember those magical nights from seven years ago.