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I Play the Similar Tune on Loop Each Night time

Cue Music: Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce

Photograph by Markus Gjengaar on Unsplash

On my method residence from work, I play the identical music on loop each evening:

“If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I’d like to do
Is to save every day
Till eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you.”

I’ve been doing this for over a 12 months to protect the little that’s left of her— it’s my life’s sole goal. Gone are the times when my day-to-day snags bothered me. Gone are the times once I labored for my boss’s approval. Gone are the times once I lived to impress my neighbors.

All that issues now’s her recollections. I’ve to maintain them with me someway.

I solely exist to maintain the home we as soon as known as residence. And to drive down this downtrodden highway that jogs my memory of what she meant to me. It helps me reminisce the great instances and maintain on to the final figments of my sanity.

Throughout these fleeting moments, a buried existence turns inside me. The traces between life and demise start to blur. My thoughts freely wanders within the great previous, taking me to my pot on the finish of the rainbow: my golden days together with her. However simply when time begins to face nonetheless, the highway involves an finish and the current comes flooding in, reminding me of how I’ve misplaced every thing.

“If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I’d save every day like a treasure and then
Again, I would spend them with you.”

“If only…If only,” I sigh, wiping my tears. I alter my thoughts and as a substitute of turning left to our as soon as stunning residence, I take a proper, right into a darkish alleyway.

Parked proper in the midst of a slender avenue, I bawl my eyes out. That’s when the nook of my eye catches a rusty signboard on a shack that reads Street to Wherever. “Just what I need,” I inform myself. I stroll in and sit.

“Have a drink?” asks the bartender. “Need one!” I cry.

Whereas he pours me a glass of whiskey, I flip to the jukebox and play the one music I can consider. However the system simply stands there — nearly lifeless like me. Nothing comes out of it, aside from the sound of my coin operating by way of its rusty outdated veins. I throw in a couple of extra cash, then surrender, settling again on my barside stool.

Eyes extensive shut, I gulp down a glass of whiskey, listening to that factor flip once more. Just a few extra rounds and the flywheels of my thoughts start to rewind. Just a few extra…and the tealights of recollections begin stacking up inside me, giving me hope once more. They don’t burn like they as soon as did although. They by no means will…

Squealing and clanging again to life, the jukebox continues its little imitation sport and performs a cacophony of phrases that solely I can comprehend:

“But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do, once you find them
I’ve looked around enough to know
That you’re the one I want to go through time with”

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