the first song they played that night, also the first song i really fell in love with, memories pouring into a life-shaped container, re-moulded in the form of what has always been, me. i never feel lost listening to the spot-on contrast between sparse melodies and heightened vocals, i has always liked the lyrics, 'it's my wedding day song,' my best friend said.
when they appeared the crowd shrieked high and low, high and low; a painful comfort
I WILL POSSESS YOUR HEART
which might be more appropriate as an opening song; hypnotizing prolonged intro and all, felt like they owned all the grandeur in a romantic sojourn
(but 'grandeur' is not what the band are trying to achieve i guess)
and then nameless songs are flooding back to me: these are the songs i listened to when i came back from school—scouting numbers and words and physical fitness, these are the songs i listened to when i drifted off those rough edges of sleep—tripping in and out of the sole state of consciousness, these are the songs i listened to when walking down the tree aisles, or running alone, or playing badminton, or taking showers, etc etc
and then after three years, i remember
these are the songs that hung my life, but then they slept underneath the sheets of silk—hibernating, losing their names because names are what you sacrifice first when you need to make one; but being nameless did not mean that they were unidentifiable. i knew them but, they were in a language that had slipped away from my mind. like other nameless feelings, you know what they are what they represent yes they mean a thing but
but it takes a lot to conjure them back even after a second
i made peace with two stupid (censored due to racial sensitivity)
this was a much-richer equivalent of royal blue velvet curtain closing
i imagined some fireworks
and my heart burst
into raindrops filling the holes of a perforated sky
'the atlantic was born today, and i'll tell you how'
it's still the nicest line ever