Friday, September 9, 2011

Just a Song

She's plugged in listening to the soundtrack of her life. Songs of secrets and love, light and sadness. A secret is a lie by omission, but what if she forgets? Memory fades, what did she do last week? She can't remember. What did she do last month is vague at best. What did she do with him?  Their guilty secret is as clear as their promise not to tell -  they swore after that, they'd quit. His image tattooed inside her head, their voices struck dumb by collusion. A secret trapped and screaming for release. Two souls pushing all under the carpet.

She made him promise - made a promise, so hard to keep. It was the best part, now the worst part. Once touched now aching. She thought she'd be fine and walk away with a hardened heart but it's pulp. Conflagration of joy and remembrance gives way to the gnawing of sadness, loss and woeful regret. At least she has a soundtrack to that moment. Music to remember him by.

He played her songs she'd never heard before, lyrics that make her cry and fly. Each one for her, shrouded in meaning that she can't interpret. Is he trying to tell her something?  He says he doesn't connect the dots, a song's a song. He likes the rhythm, the cow bell, the lyric. He likes the tune, the humour, the timbre. She takes it all to heart. The sad songs are for her, the love songs sung by him for her.

"This is our song" she claims.

He doesn't think so. It's just a song, fuel for words on a page; background noise, a muse for plans unhatched or the expression of a fleeting emotion brought on by wine and insomnia.

"It's just a song, it doesn't mean anything."

She thinks too much. Each one an allusion to something they've done, somewhere they've been, secrets they've kept, promises they've made. Mad love, shadow love, bad love and now abandoned love.  Each a treasure she keeps, buries, rediscovers and buries once again.

"So why this one?"

"It's just a song it doesn't 'mean' anything."

How she wishes that were true, but they're constantly playing on repeat, painful and beautiful fuel for her bleeding heart. Perhaps they'll meet again when the temperature's warmer, the kiss will linger and maybe then he'll mean it - but for now, it's time to bury it,  let it disappear.


  1. oy see this is all the trouble caused by mix tapes back in the roommates girlfriend played Don't Cry by GNR so many times in one night i wanted to break the cd

  2. Time for her to turn off the stereo and get out there and find other singers. They are out there, making lovely music and longing for someone to hear.

    I mean, geez, what kind of person steals from a blind man's cup?