Words that are tied up with memories so pleasant and painful at the same time that you took them, packed them up, and tossed them in a box somewhere. With just enough deliberate carelessness that you could, in retrospect, think of them as trivial. There are places long forgotten where you, a middle aged man with a weak constitution, wrote your name upon royal cream paper with a J pen. Paper can be consumed by flames, but songs cannot be unlistened. And then it comes on on the radio, preceded by an announcer with a voice that is altogether too bloody cheerful for your taste, and the chords proceed to melt your soul for a while.
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