You Are In Every Song I Listen To

Before you, “Say You Won’t Let Go”
was just another song passing through my ears,
a melody among a thousand others,
One I heard but never really listened to.

Then one day, you told me it was your favourite.

And somehow, the song began to change.
Or maybe, for the first time,
I began to hear it.

The lyrics found meaning,
the melodies found a home,
and every promise hidden in its verses
began to sound like something
I would have wanted to give you.

I fell in love with the song,
but I think I fell in love with it
because a part of you was already there.

James Arthur still sings,
and I still listen.

Only you are gone.

Yet the song remains,
carrying the tender bits of a time,
when your name was not a memory I had to survive.

I’ve heard other songs since you left,
learned new lyrics, discovered new tunes,
but somehow, you keep appearing
in places where you’ve never been.

Maybe this is what losing someone means,
not that everything they touched disappears,
but that the world keeps what they leave behind
and returns it to you when you least expect it.

I still love the song.
That is the strangest part.

Because somewhere along the way,
you taught my heart how to hear it,
and now, even in your absence,
I cannot bring myself to unlearn.

So if “Say You Won’t Let Go” ever plays
while someone else is sitting beside me,
they may hear a love song.

I will hear the lady who loved it first,
the woman who made me listen,
the love I can no longer hold
but somehow cannot stop hearing.

You are in every song I listen to.

And maybe you always will be,
because although life has taught me
how to live without you,

it has yet to teach me
how to listen without finding you.