Tuesday 3 September 2013

Melophobia - the fear of music

I wait until the rain has stopped, until the urgent knocking on the roof has subsided and the world around is silent. I press play and stand in the middle of the room, my eyes closed. 

The song begins and in those soft notes, I can almost feel the grass against my skin, I see the stars, tiny pinpoints of light in the darkness. I feel your body next to mine, the rise and fall of your chest, the promises you whispered into my ear, your fingers laced through mine, like a secret in the night.

I imagine me, in a white dress, my arms looped around your neck, your hands on my waist while these familiar words swell around us. I want to think I will look up at you and smile, I’ll whisper to you that when our children pull out our heavy photo album, I will tell them that it is the weight of my happiness that they feel. And when they trace tiny fingers over the edges of the pictures, I will tell them how that was the smile I wore on the happiest day of my life.

That night on the grass, under the stars, life was just starting, everything was light and love. I think of how things have changed, but how much I still want to live and die with you, to this song. I imagine candlelight suppers with my hand linked to yours under the table, midnight swims with our laugher filling the still night air and slow Sunday afternoons under the covers with my head on your chest.

The song ends and I stand for a moment, absorbing the reverberation from my thoughts. I try not to imagine that way your skin felt, the way your lips tasted, or the tears in your beautiful brown eyes when you said goodbye to me.

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