#A Letter to a Lost Love

It's easy to feel empty without you.

I thought those first days would be the hardest — when the grief tore through me like ice-cold fire, sending pain lancing through every cell of my being. But when the fire had burnt out, it left behind it a numbness, as if, in cauterizing the wound you'd left behind, it had singed every last nerve ending.

Since then, the emptiness has only ever been a breath away. All it takes is the sight of a vacant chair, the hole you left on the side of my bed, or some other gaping chasm in my life. I'll be sitting on my desk, flicking through the mail, and see the space where your name should be on the bills, and the emptiness comes crashing in.

But there is one thing that helps, and I'm sure you can guess what it is.

Whenever it all becomes too much — whenever I feel like an island cut off from love by a vast ocean of grief — I turn to music. I go to our CD rack, filled with every album we bought — memories of each gig. I let my fingers trace the imprint of signatures hastily scribbled at the merch table as I slip the disc in and press play.

After a couple of seconds of whirring, the air is filled with blaring horns, stabbing and sauntering over jaunty bass and offbeat rhythms. I may not be able to move like I used to, joints creaking and cracking in protest, but as the music seeps inside me, it's impossible not to sway and shimmy just a little. And as I do, I close my eyes and let the tunes carry me back...

I remember the first time you took me to a gig — so different from the soulful, sorrowful ballads I'd clung to throughout my angsty teenage years. This music was joyous. There may still have been anger and loss and love, but everything was bundled up in sunshine. You introduced me to so many new things, but it all started there. Those late-night gigs in the basement of some pub or club decked out in our checked shirts and trilby hats. The smell of smoke clung to the furniture, despite not having been allowed inside for years. Our feet stuck to the floor as we danced and hopped and kicked.

I remember our first kiss, shared under a streetlight as you walked me home. And every kiss after that.

I remember Summers spent at music festivals, twisting and twirling together in a field, pints of cider sloshing, a pair of wasps buzzing around after us, locked in their own mirror of our dance.

I remember lounging in the sun, sharing a pair of earphones.

I remember love blossoming in those lazy afternoons.

You made me realise that life could be so easy with you. And it was.

Of course, we had our problems. The trials and tribulations of life are hard to avoid. But with you by my side, even in our darkest moments there was always a song in my soul.

Then you were gone. And for a while, you took the music with you.

But don't worry, my love. I found it once more, stacked neatly away with our memories.

As I sit listening, foot tapping away, the ache in my chest is still there, but there's also a smile on my face. I hear you in every note of the song, see you in every ray of sunshine, and feel you in my soul.

When the music plays, you're with me, and it's hard to feel empty anymore.

WC: 604

I really appreciate any and all feedback

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