So we stood among the crowd in the afternoon sun and soaked in the last few rays of the day. The music was mellow but our spirits were high and our hearts free. In the golden hour, I marveled at the familiar scene and how everything was the same, and yet how everything has also changed. I’ve always believed that every summer has its own story. Last summer, everything was new: the characters, the feelings, the adventures. And then I blinked and somehow we grew up more than just a little bit. Now I know: summer is a season that is all at once eternal and fleeting.
“Someway, baby, it’s part of me, apart from me.”
It’s been a couple of months since this night, but memory has a funny way of allowing some moments to fade and others to stay as vivid as the present itself. Picture this: Starry-eyed and legs tired, we sway fragile with Marco’s head resting on top of mine, his arms over mine. Bon Iver goes into Holocene tenderly, singing of his dark night of the soul which we’ve all come to recognize along with our own.
“And at once I knew, I was not magnificent”
This was the song which carried for me every memory of every heartbreak, a song of old wounds and rock bottom loneliness. A song which, for far too long, made sense only when all I could make sense of was sadness. Yet here I was, hearing it with new ears, cradled in arms that I never saw coming. Here we were, allowed to live in a tiny moment of pure peace which Someone out there carefully thought to script into the vast messy story of the world. And I cried because I finally understood that things get better. They really do.
“And I could see for miles, miles, miles”