Bereft of favourite music

I loved you when our love was blessed, I love you now there’s nothing left but sorrow and a sense of overtime. And I missed you since the place got wrecked, and I just don’t care what happens next, it looks like freedom but it feels like death, it’s something in between I guess: it’s closing time.

(Leonard Cohen: Closing Time)


Having no future has its advantages: nothing disappoints you; you have nothing to worry about; it’s a relatively effortless life . . . Still, the disadvantages prevail: you have nothing to look forward to; you experience no strong negative emotions, but neither you experience any strong positive ones; in short, you don’t live – you just plod along, waiting for the end.

One of the unexpected disadvantages was that I found out I could no longer listen to most of my favourite songs. Except for those by determinedly melancholic authors like Simon and Cohen, all of my best-loved albums feature one or more songs firmly associated in my mind with some pleasant memory of the days when there was still some hope left. They could have hurt too much: I became afraid of what I had loved best and began deliberately avoiding it.



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