Sinister: A cautionary note about love and music

[Sunny set]

Music.
Some music grabs you. You listen to it over and over until you fix each line 
and each lyric in your memory. It's a compulsion. The song rolls around in 
your head like a broken record demanding to be understood, to be memorized 
to be given life by you. Greedy music, selfish music it competes for 
attention at the expense of other songs. Finding such a track is exciting. A 
new compulsion to occupy your thoughts. Quickly through repeated listenings 
you learn the outline of a song. Enough to lessen the urgency of your 
addiction. Your brain focuses in on specifics. Lazily noticing the odd 
phrase that it had bypassed. Taking pleasure from small victories. 
Eventually as is inevitable there comes a time when there are no more 
surprises. The song rolls on, a comfortable, well loved, well understood 
tune.
A long the way it loses something. The mystery and the excitement of the 
first hearing are no longer there. You start to listen to other music and 
forget about that much loved extraordinary song.

Love.

Sometimes you fall in love. I first fell in a small room with bricks that 
were painted blue. It happened sometime in that first week of meeting. Lying 
on the bed listening to the Trash Can Sinatras album "A Happy Pocket". That 
was our album. He had bought a few days before we met.
  We would spend hours in that room. The light would fade from mid afternoon 
to early evening. The small cassette player would temperamentally sing out 
our songs. Occasionally stopping in its paint splattered tracks to chew up a 
cassette or two.
We lay next to each other talking and reading and just being together. 
Together on the single bed with music and the biro on the wall where he had 
anxiously written something for fear he might forget it by the time he found 
paper.
We moved to rooms with more space and double beds and wall paper. We moved 
further apart. The urge to be in each others company subsided somewhat. But 
we still loved each other. We still found the odd surprise that would remind 
us why we were in love in the first place. That look on his face when he 
gave me that ring. That impulsive hug he gave while we were walking down the 
street.  We knew each other well. We could read each other like an open 
book. I knew if he was lying to me. He knew when I was too tired or worried 
to talk reasonably.
But somewhere along the line, a  line that now nearly stretched 4 years, we 
stopped wanting to understand. We stopped wanting to remember the reason we 
were in love. We fell out of love. An unhappy end to the story.

Don't let love slip away. Old songs can be re-found and re-loved. Old love 
can never be reclaimed.


Take Care,
Rachel


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