“I remember you in every song”

These are the words, scrawled in thin black paint, that greet you when you alight from the Inter-City train in the station where I grew up.

I wonder to myself, warm air all around, familiar cobbles beneath my feet, who wrote these words? What was their purpose? And why are they in English and not Portuguese?

These are the words that greet you when you alight from the train, and step onto the platform. Scents of heat, warm flowers, of dark juicy cherries off the ground, still covered in freshly mown grass.

These are the words which take me home. These are the words which bring me back to childhood. These are the words which stir a deep happy-sadness in me.

I remember you in every song.

Were they for a loved one? A friend? A sweetheart? Are they simply lyrics from someone’s favourite melody? Did the intended ever read their beauty?

I remember you in every song.

Sweet mimosa blossoms, hot, dry, forest fires. Bone earth, drying fruits, burning feet as you walk the familiar paths of childhood. I remember you in every song.

Bittersweet beer, salted peanuts, olives. Of an evening, sitting outside watching the world go by. Courtyard marble warms tired and weary feet, ants nip as they endlessly trail past, their lines never ceasing. Neverending.

I remember you in every song.

I wish my days were still filled with this same happy, contented, simplicity. I wish I could still live.

I remember you in every song.

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