I have this distinct memory of lying on the floor in front of the radio on a scorching summer day waiting for the perfect song to play so that I could record it on my tape.
One thing I love about mister is his love for music.
I like music, don't get me wrong, but I don't have any drive to discover new music. Occasionally I'll stumble upon something (like Miss Goulding) but it's not intentional.
Every couple of months mister and I will huddle together over a computer screen and he'll show me his discoveries, or just music he has that I might love. This months foray was explicit gold!
Sometimes it's with the desperation of Tom Hanks screaming for Wilson and sometimes it's the quiet click of a door and sometimes you turn around because your hand has fallen out of theirs and they are gone. Or you are gone.
In any case you miss them.
(I want to be as I was here. Knowing that however long was just long enough.)