my songs

I use the word love a lot. I love a lot of things and a lot of people. On this particular day and on many days I think about all the different songs I love. But when it comes down to it, there are only a few I love in a specific, perfect way. This doesn’t mean that when I say I love other songs, I don’t mean it. I worry sometimes that applying the word too liberally to things devalues them, both in the eyes of others who become suspect of my standards, and intrinsically, as though love has to be selective to be true. I worry about this, but not too much, because all the while I know it’s not true, not for me. The quality of love can stay the same, even as the texture differs from one thing to the next.

Skinny Love (Bon Iver)
Push, acoustic (Matchbox 20)
Yellow (Coldplay)
Soul to Squeeze (Red Hot Chili Peppers)
Cold Girl Fever (The National)
Delicate (Damien Rice)

There are common features; most apparently, they are all sung by males (I don’t really know what that says). They’re quiet and not earth-shattering. Most are well-known; for all the lesser known music I'm exposed to, these are the ones that choose me. Closer to me, they are songs for nighttime or the dark, and for the cold, for transportation in familiar places. I don’t love them for memories; though there are many, many songs whose associated people and experiences intensify my inherent love for them. They exude a similar quality. In their own way, these give me the same feeling, a certain kind of ache that makes them perfect, perfect not as in flawless; perfect because it fits my particular combination of angles.