Wednesday, September 08, 2004

tomato shaped the electrons to say

I love my music. It is the secret soundtrack to the lives of the people I watch quietly as I go walking my way about the city.

Yann Tiersen's "Amelie" plays as I watch a girl smile sneakily at something bad only she and I know she must have done. Elliott Smith sings soft and bitter about the moon while I watch a boy walk with his face fallen and hands in his pockets from what must now be his ex-lover's apartment.

I like to think I know not all about them, but just what the song implies. I look at them and I think, "You. This song is yours. Did you know?"

But sometimes I think they might be listening to "Tiny Vessels" by Death Cab for Cutie and looking knowingly at me. The thought shames me, as lines of the song play back in my head.

Even I cannot escape the soundtrack I have made.


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