I want the kind of life you feel around you when you listen to a jazz song full of smooth sounds and instruments I don’t know by name but love. I want to feel that glide, feel that silk, of life. Dinner with candles, just because—not because of. I want to walk into the room you hear in smooth jazz songs, that personal apartment with wide windows and classic wood floors and a table with wine (I didn't understand wine until you). I want to feel my shoulders relax, to have the world slow down—just enough—to really feel the song, taste the song, and know that this is what makes life jazz. Bare feet on the wood floor, dim lighting, and in the background the colour red, warm. Spaghetti dinner, not pasta because you don’t picture pasta with jazz music—it’s all about the spaghetti. Lounging in a comfortable chair, lounging with a glass of wine in hand, and then the door opens, and you come in, and your shoulders relax, and you take your wine glass in hand, and drop into the chair beside me, and you can hear it, too. This life, this room. This is jazz.