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you play old love songs on queue for a living.
the small booth you work in is your late night sanctuary, the three-hour program your reason to be.
ango only found the posting for it by chance. he thought it a good way to make amends to you both.
you are still bitter, though.
the small booth you work in is your late night sanctuary, the three-hour program your reason to be.
ango only found the posting for it by chance. he thought it a good way to make amends to you both.
you are still bitter, though.
the ghost of your lover& #39;s fingers as they undo wrappings hiding wounds remain in your nightmares, yet you refuse to let go.
your carefully-curated playlist helps somewhat; they remind you of happier times, of quiet nights over shared drinks and scratchy records—
your carefully-curated playlist helps somewhat; they remind you of happier times, of quiet nights over shared drinks and scratchy records—
—of the future together you wish you both had, but never came to pass.
you& #39;ve always seen the world through rose-tinted glasses; now is no different from then, even as the pink has been stained red, and all you feel inside is grief and loss and rage—
you& #39;ve always seen the world through rose-tinted glasses; now is no different from then, even as the pink has been stained red, and all you feel inside is grief and loss and rage—
—at this cruel but beautiful world that has taken from you who you love most.
(you still can& #39;t let go.
you do let go of the headphones, though. the three hours are up, and the lights are off. time to go home.)
(you still can& #39;t let go.
you do let go of the headphones, though. the three hours are up, and the lights are off. time to go home.)
a missed call awaits in your answering machine. your breath hitches at the unknown number for some reason.
(you& #39;ve never cared about the small things until he taught you to.
because of that, you& #39;ve never stopped hoping.)
(you& #39;ve never cared about the small things until he taught you to.
because of that, you& #39;ve never stopped hoping.)
you decide to play it despite your misgivings.
there is a long pause of grainy feedback, then a soft recording that brings you to your knees and your eyes to tears.
(through tinted glasses, a life in soft, pink hues—)
it& #39;s the last song you both danced to before he died.
there is a long pause of grainy feedback, then a soft recording that brings you to your knees and your eyes to tears.
(through tinted glasses, a life in soft, pink hues—)
it& #39;s the last song you both danced to before he died.
(you& #39;d laughed when you first heard it— "a french song, odasaku?"
"what can i say, i& #39;m an old man."
you smiled anyway, and placed a soft kiss on his lips.)
you miss him so much, it hurts.
"what can i say, i& #39;m an old man."
you smiled anyway, and placed a soft kiss on his lips.)
you miss him so much, it hurts.
you learned french after that, but could never bear to hear the song again, because you now care too much.
now, though, as you are brought to your knees and tears brought to your eyes, you are glad you& #39;ve held out this long.
now, though, as you are brought to your knees and tears brought to your eyes, you are glad you& #39;ve held out this long.
