It was not the song itself that made me cry, but it was the memories that played out within my mind that left my cheeks damp.
Even after I stopped the song – and the record ceased to spin, I could still hear the giggles of the past.

I squeezed the pashmina draped around my neck until my palms burned. It’s funny how the things we try so hard to forget lurk inside of our brains, once in a while appearing during our sleep, and then creep back into our thoughts when we least expect it.

The music was off, but my muffled sobs continued the song.

You do not have to love someone in order to grieve their absence. You do not have to miss someone in order to wish that they were there with you. You do not need an explanation as to why you are sad and simultaneously apathetic to their mere existence.

And when someone asks you why the song left your entire body shaking, you do not need to say a single word. Music has a way of taking us back to places and times we did not know existed and that we may have never been to before.

As I laid against the carpet with my eyes squeezed shut, I felt my foot rub against the smooth wood of the record player. As the pain of memories intensified, I pressed down the needle and began to listen again.