Just Songs
I’m thinking of the weird ones while I play the same album over again to memorize the feelings. The words are the feelings, the words are not the feelings. It’s a trigger in any event, it’s a melody unlocking a door in a hallway you passed by a thousand times but didn’t recognize until the open swing and the burden lifted. Its personal in a way that everyone knows in the same stories with different names redacted. I might listen to it all night because it’s the only home that feels the right kind of warm. I’m thinking of the weird ones because I like the way their pictures fill my memories, and the colors cool with mine, and the sound of all these voices singing about times I remember I missed out on. I recall them in other songs, old scenes I’ve wandered into unassuming just to slip into a wall, a specter, golden.