daily love note: no. 38

Today, as I drove down a midwestern road filled with too much construction, the chaotic piano of LCD Soundsystem’s “All My Friends” began.

Suddenly, I was back in a muddy park in St. Louis dancing with two friends who were about to move cross country. We were all mingling with strangers we’d met earlier that day, catching each other’s glances in our crinkled eyes. Flashes of light from the stage in the distance were reproduced like delayed lightning by the enormous screen in front of us. Barefoot, dirty, entangled with strangers, we made our way back to each other, laughing from the strange perfection of the moment. 

We knew this felt different. Everything would be different soon. This festival would be discontinued the following year. 

However, we’d been there: at the reunion show of LCD Soundsystem. 

Years later, we’d find our way back to each other, in the Pacific Northwest— in a car stuck in traffic— mumbling along to “All My Friends”. 

We’d leave little room for silence between conversations untainted by any separation or time. The gaps filled instead with the songs we’d each collected over the past few months, our voices mingling with ones much more qualified. 

This is my snapshot, but I know that others have their own memories containing the same soundtrack.  How odd and splendid and beautiful to share a melody with so many different stories.

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