The Promise Of

It’s not even a song I particularly like; I use to wince when it came on the radio, which was often. Just another generic pop beat, wanna-be song, always blaring from the CD player in the common room. The tune and words were drilled into my unwilling head.

Hearing it now, a relic from 10 years or past, is a rare occurrence. Still, even from just a snatch of the tune, I hum along. It is my secret song shame but, even more deeply, I relish it and hold it close. I don’t like it, but it may be my favourite song ever.

It is high summer: midsummer: the day that almost never ends. Only a few hours of darkness, and it is that time in this day long past that I think of. Heavy, dark sky surrounds us, pressing in the heat. My friends and I are still dancing, drunkenly, loudly, but together. The song hangs in the air, matching heartbeats and head bangs. I never want it to end and laugh. What could be greater than this?

Nothing is the answer, pounding in my blood, matching time with the last strains of that song.

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