You began as a catchy tune, one that caught
my ear when I first heard you on the radio,
and I desperately had to save it, so I could listen to it properly later.
You were the song that was played on repeat, while I was
alone in my room, because I wanted to soak in all the words,
memorize all the lines,
strum each chord on my guitar
until my fingers bled from the happiness of playing your song
You were the melody that reminded me
of seeing you immediately after work because you were
all that I ever wanted to do.
I used to hum your melody in the car, on long drives to the cabin
and I could hear the waves whisper it along
as I kayaked my way through the lake.
You were the chart topper,
the song that I shared with my friends, and the song that they caught onto.
You were the song they loved, a summer hit that didn’t get
overplayed, but you were on every station, and we loved to turn the
volume up high so we could drown in your music.
We never wanted your song to end,
and you were our summer anthem.
You were the song that made me reminisce
the times I heard you on the radio, in restaurants, in coffee shops, in the mall,
all I could do was think of the other times I had listened to you.
You brought back tears of happiness, and then tears of sorrow.
You were the song that punctured my heart,
that ripped the veins out and tied them around my neck,
and you were the song that suffocated me slowly, with each play,
until I lost all control of my breathing.
You are the song I can no longer listen to
You are the song that finally became overplayed,
the song that once brought such happy times
only to quickly become a one-hit wonder, like the rest of them.
You are the song that makes me cry because I wonder if I would love you more now
if I didn’t listen to you so much.
You are the song I can no longer listen to.
This piece has been published on Thought Catalog. You can view the published version here.