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If anyone tells you a song is important to them, you should turn it up loud, close your eyes, and really listen. Because at the end, you will know that person so much better. —Unknown
I’d come so far from the place where every one of those signs mattered. Where I’d analyzed and overanalyzed to the point that I drove myself insane, until, finally, I just let things be as they were.
What was it about a woman’s psyche that refuses to let us ignore the old aches, the ancient pains, and the memories of the men we bind ourselves to?
Everyone, at some point in their life, breathes and grieves through song, but for me, it was daily therapy.
That’s the thing about intimacy and truly knowing the person you’re with. They always know when something’s off, no matter how casually you try to sweep your unease away. They know. It’s their job, because in the song of your life, they are the ones listening. It’s when they stop that you need to worry. He’d listened to mine. He knew when a beat was missing, or a note was forgotten. He’d memorized my song, and I was his favorite.
Heartache has the most annoying sound. It’s an echo. An echo of heartbeats stuck on a loop.
“He’s going to ask you to marry him, if he’s smart. Don’t say yes.” “Are you crazy?” “Worse.” “What is worse?” “In love.”
