Neverending

8

There's a song on the radio that I haven't heard in an age. I can't always remember band names or even lyrics (often to Juliette's amusement as I half-hum the words I simply cannot recall as I cook her breakfast) but I remember rhythms and voices with absolute clarity. I read once that people's capacity for visualisation can range from cinematic to aphantasic – from a perfect rendering to a stubbornly blank canvas. My audio memory is at the symphonic end. I can hear a track once and tap out the rhythm with my fingers days later on the breakfast bar. Is it a useful talent? Not so far. But I do believe it gives me the capability of enjoying music more than most. And for that, I am grateful. When a song comes on that I love, it feels like love. I'm embraced and transported and no matter what mood I'm in, I'm elevated.

And this song, right now - this is one of those.

The strings fill my car as fields dash past my windows either side. A woman's voice rises above the orchestra as the tension mounts. I'm not just hearing it - I'm there. I'm in the cemetery between Lincoln and Bravery, where I first held Juliette's hand. She threaded her fingers through mine after we kissed in the sunlight. Only moments before, I hadn't known what it was like to touch her. To pull her towards me. How her lips would feel. But as we walked hand, I now knew. The unseasonable sunlight somehow made everything quieter, even given our location. But amid the silence, Juliette started humming a tune. I didn't recognise it then and I hadn't heard it since.

Until now.

I can feel her hand in mine as we make our way along the brightly lit streets, looking for somewhere that does a decent iced coffee. Mainly, I want the chance to sit opposite her and take in her incredible features as much as is possible whilst stopping shy of being a bit weird. There's a little café that's hard to find called... Hard to Find Café. Juliette is immediately delighted when we duck into the smaller than usual doorway, through a winding corridor filled with evergreens and out into a sunlit courtyard. The late afternoon sun hits the flagstones, warming the soles of people who murmur to one another, the occasional laugh a melody on an otherwise laidback afternoon. The coffee is perfectly brewed and deliciously ice-cold as I sip, letting Juliette talk as I -

I jump as my phone sounds. The cemetery disappears as I'm pulled back into now. I glance down, feeling my heart thumping at its new almost permanently accelerated rate.

Level Three. Fuck.