It played again.
The song I mentioned. You probably weren’t listened. I’m sure your mind was else where, or else who – or whatever.
I want to delete my Spotify playlists. Cancel my account. Bye bye, iTunes. Uninstall. Zip-zip, CDs. Oh, wait, I can make mosaic coasters.
I keep wondering what songs were playing when you were driving in the car. In the restaurant? At the concert?
When you were with her, instead of me. You remember, right? The concert. Or as you claim, the last time you experienced true happiness.
Wow, Clorox in the wound, and I stripped that band from my Spotify playlist. I used to play music from the moment I woke up until my eyes closed. Now? The house is silent until noon. Or later. Some days, there’s no music at all.
Every song. Every note. Even our silly “me messing up the words and you laughing” songs. Countless, at one time meaningful songs, now rendered into a mountain of meaningless melodies.
Music is a means of escape, isn’t it? Escaping is your thing, not mine. And I’m learning some people aren’t worth escaping with. She didn’t “come with you” to the concert as you claim. You asked her. There’s a profound difference.
Maybe, it’s not music I should delete from my life.