Even before the words kick in, this song sounds like someone leaving. Maybe it�s the trains. Maybe it�s the circumstance.

It is five in the morning. It is four in the afternoon. The room is illuminated by a lamp or by the sun. The mattress is on the floor. I am under the duvet, my hot breath filling the space between my body and the pillow. I can still smell him here.

The song has been on repeat all day. It makes me think of cathedrals, of vaulted places. I have never been to church as a believer. This is something we shared. I have the stereo on loud. It is turned right up. The bass makes the air in the room tremble, as if the room is breathing, is letting me know I�m not alone. But I am.

Yesterday, the house was full of boys and hormones, but they seeped away as morning became afternoon, and when it became clear that I was not going to be okay. It�s easier to grieve when you�re alone, though. You can let it rip through you, no composure required.

There are some songs you can lose yourself inside. If you�re lucky. If you play them loud enough. For me, this is one of them.

---

Emma J. Lannie lives in Derby where she works as a Librarian. She co-writes the interactive online novel Sh, and has stories online at Six Sentences, Straight From The Fridge, The Beat, Un-made-up, Beat The Dust, The Pygmy Giant and Dogmatika. You can visit her here.

---

© 2009 Laura Hird All rights reserved.