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  • Dorian Winter

14 songs for february 14: a valentines playlist

a time for love

for humid evenings spent tossing salad and pouring wine, the quiet chirp of neighbourhood birds, pink hour, crumpled bedsheets, and lamplight.

dawn in the adan

for otters who fall asleep holding hands, sea witches who string pearls and conch shells into enchanted necklaces, drinking sake by the beach, and the glimpse of a flashlight on wet sand.

i'll remember april

french press coffee at 7:30am on a sunday, breakfast around a round mahogany table with light scratches near the edges, antiquing, jumpstarting the car with the intent to cruise around and people watch, soft gravel.


when the moon is up in the sky at 3pm, paper piled up into pseudo origami on your nightstand, pillow-shaped indents on your cheek, flat lukewarm soda that tastes better than ever.

parfum d'etoiles

sewing up the gash in your chest left by cupid, walking down marble staircases, salted caramel and mint, fountains of iced green tea, pearlescent fingernails and teeth, chipped bone china.

a voz do violão

paper lanterns strewn around a quiet bar at sunset, the taste of liquor meeting residual saltwater, damp hands and eyelashes, sand freckled on your calves, the distant glimmer of halogen lamps.

cupid de locke

falling in love outside a car park, greasy fries dipped in vanilla ice cream, light pollution, wired headphones, scuffed cargo pants and faded brass keychains, flat tires, and faint static.

baby i'm yours

americana diner perpetually perfumed with black coffee and buttery pie crusts, dusty lampshades with faux rhinestones glimmering, fur coats kissed by snowflakes and red wine, walkie-talkies, gun holsters, and flip phones.

goodnight, my beautiful

an empty concert hall filled with silverfish and damp wood, lace curtains weighed down by dust and decades gone by, tuxedos and green carnations, giggling backstage, venetian masks, shoe polish, and whiskey.

for lovers

countryside b&b filled with fresh bread and jam, cold hardwood floors, quilts made from sentimental scrap fabric, heavy eyes and chamomile tea, dim lights.

eu hoje acordei com a luz do sol

pre-confession, a briefcase filled with stolen cash and tentative love letters, thrifted tweed suits and mismatched handkerchiefs, old partners-in-crime, the sun is still sweltering at 5pm, you know where he is.

mexican dream

riding on a vespa through the countryside, sharing strawberry and lemon sorbet on a street step, cream button-up shirts, old cobblestone, and cracked restaurant facades, the scent of damp grass and humid air, a storm approaches slowly.

street market/love scene

making your way through an entry of beaded curtains, the texture of satin and linen, burnt orange, terracotta, the tackiness of hair gel, and the remnants of shaving cream, curiosity.


remembering why you fell in love in the first place, seeing somebody in every stream and broken tree branch, cleaning their glasses, cold winter air, foggy windows with secret messages written on them, post-it notes left on the fridge before work.

listen along here:

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