You lit a cigarette, and sucked it in, the smell of it flowing over me comfortingly, alongside the warbling voice of a singer I didn’t know.
I made pumpkin pasta for dinner. I burnt the hell out of it but the person I was falling for said it tasted better that way.
A Stereo Story about a stereo. A love story too.
A guitar rests in a corner, beside the open fire. “Can you play?” A melody reverberates as the clock on the kitchen counter clicks over to 3am.
At some point the peg began to sing, and the song it sang was (Once I Had A) Secret Love.
Listening to most music has been so much harder for me since the stroke and I had not been keen on revisiting older recordings and demos of ideas stashed away on various hard drives.
My name sounds different when she says it, and often, I ignore her the first time so I can hear her call it again.
Moira smiles shyly, hypnotising me from across the table with her catlike green eyes.
It was strange: I listened to it, and the unspoken words hanging between us were suddenly said – not by him, or me, but by this angelic voice from afar. It was an admission, an apology. No, it was a plea. No, maybe it was just a song.
Craig Kirchner reflects on romance, elopement, honeymoon and when life goes awry.