I feel ownership over Second Sun.
Our love. Our song. Our moment.
Let me set the scene.
The London Overground. Canonbury. Orange branding, and orange lights shining down through the falling rain onto the platform.
We’re taking shelter. Giddy from three of four glasses of wine and one or two gin and tonics.
Orchestral. Grand. A surge. Love.
The crackle of a record player. The glistening stars even through the polluted London air. They shine through the raindrops that are slamming onto the concrete and the glass above our heads.
This time the song’s not played through headphones directly into my eardrum,
Allowing for no distractions.
This time, the moment I’m dragged back into it’s coming through the tinny speakers at the bottom of his phone. Heads huddled together he says,
This made me think of you.
We feel the warmth of one another.
And now I’ll never not think of him.
In that moment, sitting on the orange platform.
It felt as though a spotlight was on us.
A moment that needed to be illuminated.
An important scene in a film.
I’m looking down on us, outside of my own body.
Love crescendoing.
I don’t know how it makes me feel this way.
How does a progression of musical notes do this to me?
I’m surprised the words on this page aren’t leaking with tears dropped onto them.
My breath follows the rhythm unconsciously.
The rise and fall.
Deep inhalations.
Emotive breath.
My lips tremble.
My skin shivers.
And then 3 minutes and 43 seconds pass, a deafening silence follows.
It wasn’t a sad day.
Not by any means.
It was a day when a song made me realise how much I could love.
Second Sun is the most beautiful song in the world.
The most beautiful song in the world.
To me.
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