The wrong music

I was listening to the wrong music
while trying to forget him.

They were such melodious songs
(that I discovered by chance
just after he left me)
and the lyrics
- predictably, yes, about relationships -
were so conveniently adjustable
to our story
that I could not resist.

I cried and cried
every time I heard them
on my daily
melancholy dose of masochism
to and from work
until I thought:
why do I insist?

After all, I had realised
that the reason for clinging
onto the lost him and the lost us
was pure lust
for my own lost me:
he was just a ghost
who had brought back
at last
what I valued most
from the past.

Then I understood
where I could find the key
to free myself from this
depressing carousel:
To hear the music that I loved the most
in the days when we were young -
the days I had believed
he could revive.

What a revelation I discovered!
My fondest memories,
those I wish to cherish
do not involve his presence in my life.
This passion,
this love I thought I felt
thirty years ago,
was really just a con.

So, thanks to Alan Parson's,
I can finally unchain myself
and move on.