Rummaging in the record store, I seize upon the worn album; my folks’ favourite when I was a child. Its guitar riffs still echo from the woodwork of their home and the lyrics still whisper from the walls.
Such sublime harmonies. Yet the folk duo’s own relationship seldom rhymed.
At the counter, I see that ‘Jenny’ once claimed this copy in dark blue pen. But ‘Ben’ had crossed out her name and, in agitated text, scrawled, ‘Mine long before you shredded my soul.’
At home, under a wistful moon, I hold my wife close and slow dance to the soothing rhythm.