I must’ve thought my life would never change. That I would always have room in my head for these songs, that I would always sing them. Because I sure didn’t leave any record of them, other than jotted down titles, or hints of titles, in a crumbling notebook full of sketches and half sentences. Precious few recordings, no lyrics written down that I can find, and now I sit here, blank. Reaching hard with my mind toward the remnants of choruses, the shadows of verses that are lurking just beyond reach.
I can’t remember the songs. Life did change, and sleep deprivation left very little storage space for secondary items like songs of a by-gone era.