by Sarah Cook

The city moans with the pressure I put upon it. The slanted roofs obscure in contorted shadows in the haze of a summer night. Spotlights leave windows aghast as the stone is romanticised in the evening. Couples pull into one another on once crowded capital monuments, basking in the cool air and the late-night abandonment of the city. With ease, I glide through the streets with an emotive purpose and romantic determination.

A chance encounter with a film has pushed all reason from my mind – a visceral story paired with colourful frames and an enchanting score. It has struck up the chords in my heart again. Soon the movie melts in my mind and I suddenly ache to hear you again. I place two white buds into my ears and begin to play your song.

I let you echo around my spirit once more.

This song was not written for me. Yet it feels like it is mine. I let it own every part of me.

I have put my love for you in this song and have pocketed you in the melody. The strings become your skin, brushing against mine and causing me to quiver. The pauses are our breaths frozen in an imagined tryst. The heave of a cello, the climax of a viola, the flourishes of an orchestra carve out this fantasy. I come to it repeatedly. For that moment of inspiration. For that moment of longing. For that moment with you.

It is easier to keep you here, locked in three minutes and fifty-two seconds. I fell in love with you instantly and knew just as fast that our love was not meant for this world. I catch glimpses of it in your eyes and build worlds in our shared laughter. I will not hound, nor will I chase – I am exhausted by the rejection I am bound to face.

In this, I am safe and yours forever.

We are bound by the score. We are alive within these words. This is our moment – together here. Nothing more but everything. Never to be yet always.

No more. I think. This song and I. It’s over. I walk until the floor no longer ebbs like the sky. Until the rouge tint of the city is merely a reminder of my overtired ways. Until the skipping beats are aching thuds. Until I am spent with the score…

The cold lights of a bus are harsh against my eyes. Two fervent lovers whisper in front of me. The loneliness seeps in. I drift back to thinking of nothing at all.

You fade away again.

I let the next track load.