A dark, drunk place at four in the morning in the red-light district in Taipei. Everyone else was staggering home when Julie suggested a morning train to the beach. We shared headphones, smoked cigarettes, and listened to this song as we waited at Main Station for dawn and the slow train north. Heartbreak was a fresh and foreign substance; it hadn’t been long since it happened, and the unexpected blast still had me half in shock. It was a surreal journey. I remember thinking at the time, I should remember this. It felt like something secret was happening, something important unfolding just for us, and if it were missed or forgotten it would be my own fault.
We fell asleep hungover on the beach and got sunburned, then in the afternoon we caught the train back. The warmth of dawn sunlight, the sound of this song, the weight of her head on my shoulder, the tight pain in my chest. That’s it. The train thumped beneath us and nothing else happened, except the colors and sounds and sensations were all so shockingly vivid. I was dreaming and wide awake and alive. I wish all my days were just like that.
“If I am lost it’s only for a little while…”