Voicemails.

A year ago,
Songs, songs were just songs.
Songs that were tunes to jam to.
We had songs,
Certain songs.
Mostly 90s alternative songs.
Songs that when I heard them made a warm rain the perfect dance floor.
Songs that held on to my hands and wouldn't let go,
Not even if I tried.
Songs that said I had a warm smile.
Songs that wrote letters full of words with such meaning that no words could define them.
Songs, songs that played under our bridge as we made a new song.
It was a song that sounded like cars above your head,
With the rushing local train yard right across the river,
Oh that was our song.
Was.
Songs,
There are songs that are tunes to jam to.
Some songs sound like a hospital call,
Telling you that you made the wrong choice.
Some songs sound like clutching your favorite book that used to hold stories,
Stories that held music in their pages,
Clutching it because it's the only thing you have from her that still sings.
Some songs, some songs sound like "you'll never see me again."
Some songs make me wish that wasn't true.

This poem is about: 
Me

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