#72

Certain memories attach themselves to certain songs. Or is it the other way around? My memory of a sad, lonely winter will always be relived whenever Silver Lining and Chasing Pavements play. The smell of my black and white linens will surface as soon as I hear Perfectly Lonely or The Only Exception. My lungs twitch (and ache for a puff, a tiny puff) when I see Franco in my playlist.

And my heart, oh my heart, I don't want to talk about my heart. How many songs it has attached its memories to, I've lost count. 

But this, maybe this: each time a song we used to share plays, you remember me as much as I remember you. 

#29

Blueberry cheesecake and egg pies and PMS.

Blogs and tweets and memories.

Blankets and holidays and the future.

Books and music and me.

Last night, I fell in love without you.

#22

It was late November, and late at night. We were too addicted to this band, the greatest local band, and we did everything to see them perform live.

We didn't hold hands, but I held on to you - to your skinny, skinny arm. I rest my head on your shoulder because I had a major headache right after listening to them play from outside the bar. I knew you never liked clingy people, but that night, you just let me.

I am listening to the song we sang while we were walking back to the office. Of all songs that remind me not of you, but of us, this song is the hardest to detach from.

I know you'll meet someone better. Would you still think of me?

#11

Weekend. I need lighter boots for the weekend.

Books? (I can't, I'm working.)
Food? (I can't, I'm full.)
Music? (Yes.)
Incubus? (Yes.)
Yes.

When Just A Phase played, I asked myself this: Are you comforted because it's a great song or because it reminded you of how he used to make you feel better?

I put the volume up in search for an answer. Nothing.