When I write nowadays about yearning for the past, I do so remembering full well moments like these. If you asked me if I was happy and fulfilled then, well, evidently not. So I think my revisionist reflection considers how much better off things were, even if I didn't realize it. Thinking back to those days now, I wish to tell myself: please don't cry over this. This is only the first act. Today, strolling through an airport once again, when I heard the song playing in the background I did not know how to respond. After all, here I am after so many years, with these same thoughts and feelings. Does it ever end? It's a sobering reminder that things don't always just work out and right themselves. More depressingly, it's a reminder that perhaps the finale has yet to reveal itself.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
If these posts were like Dylan songs, even the most rabid Dylanologist would find it hard to recall the prior reference to the Cure's "Friday I'm In Love". I suppose that's something to be proud of, but onto the matter at hand. Locked away with this song, which I've heard properly maybe one or two times, improperly only a few more, is some peculiar emotion and fragment of memory. I can remember sitting by myself in a hotel room, staying all alone for the first time, and finding myself oddly upset by the cheerfulness of the song. Lord knows why; being the Cure, you always get a sense that things can take a gloomy turn any minute, so it isn't a supreme declaration of happiness or anything. But there was something in the melody and tone of the song that triggered the feeling. Its simplicity, its wishfulness, and (in my reading) the sense that no matter how many times you find yourself standing with your head on the door, eventually it all works out and you find some new reason to live which makes the rest of life seem worthwhile.