I hate having all of my memories hardwired to musical stimuli. Hate it.
The opening bars to a song I haven't heard in over a year suddenly put me back at my desk, in eighth grade, back when my desk was against the far wall and right next to the bed, back when I'd just turned thirteen and had started playing with candles, when I wrote with a piece of leather beneath the paper, running the risk of piercing it with my pencil.
And the world smells like autumn, all the time, and I can't decide if I love it or if I hate it or if it's the only thing I'll ever want.
Angels never came down
There's no one here if they want to hang around
But if they knew, if they knew you at all
Then one by one, angels, angels would fall...
-Melissa Etheridge, "Angels Would Fall"
No comments:
Post a Comment