EXPLORATION OF LOVE: ON OBSESSION, MEMORY, AND SOUND

Avery Thomas

A Reflective Thesis

December 25 — May 26

“You have such this way of making me feel—just feel.”

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter I: Film

Being Remembered

Barricades

Reaching

The Push

Consequences

Wounds

Gusts

Speaking

Unprotected

Trails

Running Away

Scorching Rope

Pull

Offerte

Translators

Chapter II: Music

The Grasp

Possessions

The Phantom

Changes

Honesty

Rescues

Escapism

Closets

Starvation

Haunting

Release

Confessions

The Mirror

Remnants

After

Chapter I: Film

In fifteen carefully chosen films, I’m looking at how desire, anonymity to myself, expression, connection, and memories shape my understanding of love and everything I experience, especially as it keeps feeling like it’s always shifting through even the smallest pieces of time and just being. Each of these stories—whether whispered in the ear, defined by rhythm, or lived through in blaring silence—acts like a lens that lets me confront parts of myself I can’t face alone, let alone share with someone else. These reflections are proudly obsessive: they’re fixated, emotionally uneven, and layered in single words that are always reaching for meaning, with each word becoming its own small story, letting language stretch, implications blur, and meaning stay unfinished. They’re meant to hold the inconsistency and subjectivity of my thoughts as they cover objective study with self, so the films feel more found than analyzed. What follows are observations, questions, and confessions—leftover pieces of longing and flashes of my identity that are never fixed, always impressionable and malleable, shaped by the art and the life they run into, where the act of watching starts to feel almost inseparable from the act of being known.

Film I: “All of Us Strangers” (2023)

Do I really want to leave him unable to recall a single thing about me?

My goodness did “All of Us Strangers” light a fire under me. I’ve known him for almost three years, and deep in the trenches of my overthinking, insecure, and over-analytical mind, what I dread most at this moment is the thought that he doesn’t know me. Perhaps it’s that I really wish he knew the things about me that I’ve kept from him for so long. Regardless, that has everything to do with me and nada to do with him. With that comes the question: Why do I care that he truly knows me? And my answer is probably one of the most direct and truthful things that I’ll ever admit to myself—I don’t want him to forget me, for then I’m worthless, and deep down, I feel that the person I am is worthy of (his) love. Even years after I’ve left, even if we no longer speak as a result of our distance, I want him to look at records, think of the music I listened to, and order the chai from the local coffee shop and remember how it was too sweet for me. Because God knows that I’ll be, however far away, unable to escape him—and why would I want to? How could I? I know him too well, and it’s still not enough for me.

This film is an astonishingly gut-wrenching display of grief. It hurt to witness. They say “to be known is to be loved,” and what a chase there was present in this film, taken on by Adam in search of being known by his parents. It all starts with them; they are the foundation, and him letting them into the room that held all of what he’d hidden before was the key to the continuation of his identity after its progression had been at a standstill for what could be considered an eternity when it regards who one is—who one truly is. It genuinely is a solidification of self when one misses out on the chance to take a chance. It hurts to think about the risk, but what hurts even more is when that possibility is stripped away. So much significance is placed in the ones that we love that we can either lose or find ourselves in them, or sometimes both, which is where I feel like I find myself.

The fire of impermanence can be found anywhere. Where I find it now is at my feet, scorching them. It’s a constant reminder that there will be pain if I don’t act on my desires. If I don’t get the chance to say everything—if I remember something years later that I can no longer put out into his world—I can at the very least live now and share myself with him, to hopefully leave him with the ghost of someone worth remembering.

Film II: “Weekend” (2011)

What might be there stopping me?

This film is the first I’ve seen that clearly lays it out for me—the difference between a “gay” film and a “romance” film. While a film can feature a gay couple and it be nothing more than a romance film, this film in my eyes, is evidently a gay film.

Homosexual love comes with circumstances that make it vastly different from heterosexual love, being gay in a heteronormative society and delayed discovery of identity being two of the biggest. Both are extremely present in “Weekend,” and I enjoy deeply how they explored different reactions to the world through the juxtaposition of Glen and Russell, the latter being reserved, even caged if you will. He struggles with being perceived and fears what the world thinks of him—undoubtedly, that stems from his being discarded at a young age. Meanwhile, Glen is a much more outgoing guy, evidently searching for understanding and answers in the same places in which he encounters things and people with which he can muffle the deafening screams of his past.

This brings me to my stop. During the summer, I would’ve said that I was a complete Russell without a trace of Glen, but the more time that I spend with him, the more I feel myself becoming a hybrid of the two. In the grand scheme of things, neither is more or less favorable; we’re all just people, different people. So what stops me from going full Glen? Because in all honesty, the part of me that resembles Glen has always existed in me, it had just been dormant for years. The answer to why it’s been so is also the answer to what stops me: fear. This film puts everything on the table in such a real way. Despite my being out, I (just the tiniest bit) fear what some might think of me with him. Even if it extends past two men existing together, there are a million other things that leave us vulnerable to glances. However, the biggest fear that I face comes from further within, fear of taking it too far and passing the point of no return, getting too comfortable, or worse, mistaking that mutual affection on those nights and allowing razors to slip from my mouth.

This film and its grounded nature allow me to take its story and let it soak into my brain, after which, I can wander for hours in my head ripping the dust covers off of parts of myself. There are so many things I desired to speak about in regard to this film, but that threshold that Glen spoke about, the threshold between who you want to be and who you truly are is simply something so delicate and golden. It’s precious.

Film III: “The Remains of the Day” (1993)

When there are a million bodies between us, is it futile to struggle through the crowd?

What an ending that made me just want to rip my heart out and run it over. Like a punch in the gut that I saw coming from a thousand miles away, it hurts nonetheless as I stand there gazing upon all that I knew was inevitable as it makes impact.

“The Remains of the Day” took existing international conflicts with societal ethics and expectations, and how we as people react to those things, to serve heartbreak on a tarnished platter. What I love and hate about this phenomenal film is that it uses those plot devices to create distance between the viewer and the primary dynamic between Miss Kenton and Mr. Stevens, showing just how insignificant the lives of everyday people were when at the hands of greater issues, or issues and things that people were made to feel less important than. It makes that time in which they do spend together all the more special since they’re truly only ever given “the remains of the day.”

So, with everything that occurs in the world and in our lives today, is there any point in pushing towards him, or am I destined to be pulled away? With that, I’d ask myself who I’d be if I gave in—if I let the tide take me out to sea. What would that make me, and what would that mean? I’d spend years questioning the verity of my love for him if I went without struggle, for that would mean that the power I claimed him to have over me was little to none—and I reckon that is unlikely. On the other hand, it could signify the simple fact that life has to move on, and despite my being pulled away, I’m not doing so in a subservient manner, even if that is a danger to only me. But if I were to push through everything standing in between us, even if it’s just an attempt, that is where I feel a love so worthy of beholding lies. I have to remind myself that there aren’t too many rules down here despite what people may say, and if I’m unmindful of the insignificant things that constantly occupy my mind, and if I do away with being consumed by what’s to come next, I could possibly reach him a lot easier. I don’t want to let being “busy” and amateur individuals stop me. It’s vital that I recognize those things and people for what they are, which is just another person in the crowd that I shall push aside. Even if I never reach him, I’d never want it to be at the cause of such little things in the way.

Film IV: “Carol” (2015)

What exactly is love?

Such a dashing and charming spell that I was bewitched by as I witnessed the chemistry between Carol Aird and Therese Belivet. I’d confidently declare that they were both also spellbound by each other. After watching this film again, I can ask no other question to myself other than what love is. I mean, after receiving such a delightful display of it, what else is there to ponder?

I began to let my mind wander to how consumed these women were by one another and what that meant regarding their affection for one another. Love for me is a pane—clear as day, simple, carefully crafted, and most of all, delicate. The biggest shard from that pane is the strength it takes to sacrifice and discard yourself for someone; it is an unbelievably high gesture. I find Carol’s sacrifices to be quite complex and greatly damaging. I cannot explain it, but I look at her actions and suddenly I understand what it means to be human. She surrendered one love for another, and yet it was not an action of choosing one over the other. It came from her truly seeing a person to their core and knowing that, inevitably, the things around her would only wound Therese further inside if she kept her close. And on the other side is Carol’s daughter, for whom she surrendered being seen, understood, and loved. Some will say that death is the ultimate sacrifice, which I will not negate nor argue, but I will claim that Carol’s infinitely glowing showcase of affection is right up there along with it.

Similar to Therese, I’m still finding myself while at the hands of someone who seems to have it all figured out—but with watching the film, I see that that’s almost never the case. I’ve always loved the world, and people too. I enjoy deeply talking to people, but I can say that in my art, I’ve never let people be a focus. They’re always represented by something as opposed to being depicted in the way in which my eyes see them. There are some moments in which I wish I did, or could do, the latter. He likes people, much more than me I’m certain. While he’s made me love them even more, it’s through the way he sees the world and people that I can find my way to discovering how I truly feel about everything. Finding who you are in others seems to be another shard.

There are so many pieces to the puzzle, and I feel that no one has lived long enough to solve it. Even with the remnants of what’s partially completed, I’ll find pieces missing, pieces only I’ll be able to forge, just as we’ll all have to. To me, that comes from a place unfathomably divine and special. It’ll almost feel surreal to have it between my fingers after so long and find that it fits.

Film V: “Brokeback Mountain” (2005)

What is the price to pay for my own self-inflicted suffocation?

Nothing in this film came as a surprise; everything unfolded just in the way in which I expected, which could say a lot about the premise of this story and how the fateful conclusion is inevitable. With secrets and everything that went unsaid directly in this film being a key part of the discovery of every person who graces the screen, mannerisms, gestures, and hinting dialogue become the main characters. My eyes and ears scanned and listened like they never have before in an attempt to peer into the minds of these people and understand what it is that they’re saying, and even further, what they really mean. It creates an overall sense of danger and tension throughout the course of the film. With that comes the feeling of that experience being one out-of-body, as even though I can predict the grand outcome and don’t feel the tension myself from the plot, I’m confronting the situations from the characters’ perspectives, awaiting how they will react, frightened for them, remaining until there’s a release of pressure after a perceived threat has been extinguished.

I’ve taken a particular interest in thinking about the crossfire here. On one side, you have Jack and Ennis firing toward the opposition, which could include numerous things, but I’ll spare the list and boil it down to the root of who’s on the other side, which is themselves. And unfortunately, in the battle against themselves, there are those subject to stray bullets like their wives, Lureen and Alma, and their children, Bobby, Alma Jr., and Jenny. When it comes to the wives, I notice a front put up, one which I can only take guesses at—their need to protect, perhaps, not only their children, but their husbands too. But the look in their shifting eyes says a lot more than that. Their husbands’ actions have put them right up there along with them as they also begin to question themselves and all that was supposed to be real. They have a philosopher’s hunger for knowledge and the inability to search for the answers. I feel that it’s there at which you’d find them on the ground, gasping for even just one breath of air. How can one go so long being helplessly choked by the things that plague their mind? Words alone cannot describe that strength.

Insanity is something that accompanies my catastrophizing over him disappearing from my life. The things that keep me awake are the things I have the power to change. However, if I continue down this road of feeling weak and undeserving, I will soon come to find my path wound into a loop—and my goodness, aren’t those a pain to escape. I’ll be doomed to travel that circle alone forever until my demise unless I shatter the walls of the echo chamber, give rise to a cliff, and jump off into the unknown.

Film VI: “God’s Own Country” (2017)

How can I remain myself when the things that collapse leave me powerless?

This film did not have the biggest impact on me as a whole, nor did I expect it to. With that being said, there were moments and pieces of characterization that stuck with me. I admired the choice to show bits of explanation as opposed to everything regarding Johnny’s past being delivered so directly. What that does for me is create that same feeling of failed introspection—when you try to find the exact point on the tracks where everything went off the rails but simply can’t. Often are the things that break us left unknown to us as we attempt to silence them with anything and everything.

Something scary to me was that, for a split second, I saw myself in this film. I realized that parts of me have become like Johnny—swallowing everything down further with alcohol and getting our hands on whoever we can. There were always thoughts in the back of my mind about why I do the things that I do, and I can solemnly say that when I’m left unsure about him—when I run through a million possibilities in my head, or when I feel I’ve done something wrong—is when I grab a bottle or my phone and reach for those that I shouldn’t. I thank my common sense for quitting hard liquors after my own Johnny-adjacent incident because those moments feel like what I see when I look at him at the beginning. It’s like tuning everything out in the worst ways possible builds up inside of you, and by the time you realize it was a mistake, it’s too late—and then you purge, only nothing of substance comes out because you’re already hollowed out thinking you found the answer.

The cycle that I notice myself in now is the filling of the void with the essence of him. I’ve slowly started to rediscover myself over the last two years through the indulgence in my creativity, friends, and family, but I’ll never truly know myself when my emotions and soul are so dependent on one person. Tragic is the fact that a pit was dug inside of me as soon as I cut ties with the first person that I thought I loved, and although I was okay after a bit, I soon found myself aware of that pit. I still remember myself and being the person who I was; I thrived if I’m honest, but deep down, I felt helpless as I tried to find something or someone to distract myself. Even though he was the one to find me this time, the loop of me cherishing his presence only to then lose it to the hands of time will inevitably result in the next identical phase of me on the verge of self-erasure, longing for a connection once again. And unfortunately for me, that’s something that I just can’t shake easily. I’ll have to go on with life, just begging and pleading with myself to be okay with being alone at the end of the day.

— Perhaps this film made a bigger impact than I led myself to believe.

Film VII: “Past Lives” (2023)

Is the place in which I find myself truly where I’m supposed to be?

I am verifiably glad that I rewatched “Past Lives” under this new circumstance. It’s given me the chance to really think on the themes presented in the film. Something that I’m happy to spend more time with this time around is destiny, to which I have generally never given much thought.

My attachment to this concept specifically sprouted upon the nighttime bed conversation between Nora and Arthur. He wondered about really interesting things, things that kickstarted the speedy turning of the gears in my head. What I found even more interesting were Nora’s responses, especially, “This is where I ended up; this is where I’m supposed to be.” I feel as though some of us can’t help but think about the sheer possibility of what more is out there because we understand that there is more out there—people, places, jobs, houses; so much that is natural and human-made can seem so impossible and far, yet so close and life-changing. It takes nothing but one tiny factor to alter something or someone’s trajectory. And what would that mean? That one missed train, leaving the car a minute later instead of two, or searching for something in the store longer than usual could be the one insignificant thing that’ll put you face-to-face with a reality that seems to be one destined for you. However, I find it captivating to think about why we sometimes push aside the thoughts that involve us feeling like we’re not supposed to be standing where we are. I agree that it’s futile to question fate, but it might be in the questioning that we find the answer inside ourselves. It’s a pleasure to accept and be comfortable with where one is, especially when one has already confronted their reality and feels at peace, but in some instances, acceptance is surrendering yourself or being afraid to become uncomfortable. Things like these are impossible to control, but they are parts of a fruitful conversation worth having with oneself.

I’ve always wondered about the things that have happened and what my reality would be if those things went differently. There’s almost nothing much to discuss about it, frankly, because these grand universal shifts are quite simple. And sometimes the answers to things and why they happen aren’t quite clear, nor are they discovered immediately—those things happen, and they cause other things to happen. I’ve not a clue why, and I can’t allow myself to continue thinking about these things because ultimately, it won’t change anything.

Film VIII: “Before Sunrise” (1995)

Why is language so important?

“Before Sunrise” was nothing but a sea of conversation, and I’d be more than happy to dive in time after time, reaching new depths with every leap that I take. This film got a reaction out of me that the other films I’ve watched thus far have not, which is my being completely lost in the story due to it being so captivatingly overwhelming that I couldn’t help but see myself in every second. The tension didn’t necessarily build; it simmered from the beginning, silently, in a way that caressed my heart. I relate to almost every story I’ve seen so far in one way or another, but the simplicity—and dare I say, the mundanity—of this film has rendered me almost incapable of speaking too much about it. It’s a gorgeous film, one truly—and almost too—thought-provoking. I selected this film because I knew it had to do with fiery connection forming between two people who understand there’s certainty in things coming to an end, and despite my heavy relation to that theme, all that touches my heart lies within the space between Céline and Jesse, and the things that they had to say.

For one hour and forty minutes, I sat with my eyes glued to the screen, yet it felt like I just sat in space, doing nothing but wandering around in my head for an eternity. For me, this story showed the simple significance of connection. There are countless ways to connect with others and yourself: painting, dancing, speaking, singing, writing, cooking—I could go on for a million pages. What’s so beautiful about that fact is that we get to choose how we want to communicate with the world, how we want to be known, how we want to contribute to our society, and in that way, it makes us all the speakers of infinite languages, searching to understand and be understood.

Similar to what I talked about during “All of Us Strangers,” but in reverse, I realize with this film just how much I want to know him. I want to ask him about the things that matter, the things that I just can’t stop thinking about, the things to which the answers would finally cease how much wondering I do in my mind about what goes on in his. I feel that this is so important to me because I know him in ways not many do, and while I value that deeply, I want to find every way I can to truly connect with him. It’s through those languages that we share that he shows me the map to the treasure buried deep inside him—holding the most magnificent part of who he is.

Film IX: “Call Me by Your Name” (2017)

Why do I leave such fragile parts of myself openly vulnerable to such dangerous things?

I know “Call Me by Your Name” from front to back. It was probably one of the first romance films to ever stick with me in such a permanent way, and while that connection may have fizzled out a bit upon the arrival of other titles in the room, its portrayal of identity discovery, love, and honesty continues to shine brightly.

Oggi, ho parlato con un amico sulla mia relazione con quel signore. Gli ho detto che il poco tempo che abbiamo con le persone che amiamo è proprio ciò che lo rende così speciale. È interessante pensare alla mattina dopo che Elio e Oliver hanno fatto sesso, perché credo che entrambi abbiano capito che hanno abbattuto le barriere che li proteggevano l’uno dall’altro e da se stessi. Elio, ha realizzato che è arrivato a un punto in cui deve affrontare se stesso, come si sente e l’identità. Per Oliver, lui crea barriere tra le cose che desidera e il vero desiderio di perseguirle, ma quella notte le ha superate, quindi ora lui deve affrontare se stesso e capire perché non è riuscito a controllarsi come voleva e come questo influenzi Elio nella scoperta di sé stesso. Mi piace molto questa parte e il modo in cui i loro sentimenti condividono un periodo successivo così delicato e bello.

Quella mi ricorda la scena alla fine in cui Elio parla con suo padre e dice “I think he was better than me” perché in fondo, sono uguali.

It’s when I watch these moments in the film unfold again that I’m affirmed in believing that leaving my—as Mr. Perlman put it—“weakest spot” visible to him is worthwhile, for it is that one decision that has already started to slowly reveal what similar products of the world we are. It is in that discovery that we are forever changed.

As I write, I’ve come to realize the beauty and value in allowing myself to remain unprotected—you never know what’ll come from it. I often feel that I’m not shielded from the things that could hurt me, yet despite how much more I have to learn about myself, one thing I do know is that I can’t help but fall in love; therefore, I can’t help but remain susceptible to the knives that puncture me—it’s an ability out of my reach. And if I’m honest, I wouldn’t trade anything for easier access to it, no matter how much it hurts. There are times when I feel so aimless without him, like nothing makes sense, but if I’m to choose between feeling hollow or not after our time together has completely fleeted, I’d choose to feel it every time, for it is through feeling anything that I can make sense of things—through composing, painting, writing, all the small things in which I partake—and those will always be the last parts of myself that remain with me once the river has run dry.

Film X: “A Single Man” (2009)

When all seems lost, what is it worth to continue on?

This is the first time I’ve ever said this, but I believe this is a film that every person should watch.

I have to say that the poster and title of this film led me to believe this was about a romance and possible heartbreak between George and Charley—in a way, it still was. It wasn’t until I was a few minutes into the film that I paused it to go back and read the description; it was then that I realized it was about the aftermath of the death of George’s lover, Jim. Therefore, I don’t regard myself as someone who was prepared for the events that really took place, as it peels back a completely different layer of grief.

Firstly, I just want to say that this was such a beautifully heart-wrenching film, one that mercilessly wields themes of hope, fear, and despair in such desirable ways that it knows will just about break me. What this story does a particularly astounding job at is using world conflicts and 1960s societal norms to serve as background messengers that support both George’s current sorrowful outlook on life, as well as the amplification of that perspective due to the fact that he is alone in his grief and sadness—but not entirely. Despite George’s refusal to openly grieve or speak of Jim as his partner because of that world’s existing views on homosexual men, he comes to realize, in the one day the story spends with him, that there’s beauty to be found and treasured in those with whom we connect. It’s insane just how subtly it shined the brightest light on the fact that our emotions, ambitions, feelings, and experiences tie us all together despite our differences—and the simple thought of that practically gutted me in a way that I can only appreciate.

So, to stick around, what is that worth? And immediately after asking that, I thought back to Carlos’ analogy from his mother, claiming that “...lovers are like buses. You just have to wait a little while, and another one comes along.” For me, that just about answers it. The word that I can summarize it all down to is “hope.” I’m similar to George, but not in every way—or perhaps that’s untrue now that I think about it. I’ve never felt there to be only one way out, and it seems that neither did he. Like him, I realize that there are things worth fighting for, people deserving of our natural time, and a burning desire within us to be around them, whether it be in the quietest silence or the loudest argument. The truth is that pain never leaves once it forms, but if I think about all the wonderful things that could happen in a single day, and just slow myself down for one minute after doing so, I’d be more than happy to hold on for as long as I can.

Film XI: “重慶森林” - “Chungking Express” (1994)

What is the use in drowning out the noise if it only makes everything louder?

I’m now in a deep love with myself for assigning this film to the list; otherwise, I wouldn’t have picked up on the things during this viewing that I missed during the prior three. What really struck me this time is how alike you could say the four of these characters are, all trapped in a box yet seemingly unaware of it—although I reckon that most people wouldn’t immediately be aware of that fact. Here, I think it’s the deafening noise that they create within themselves that leaves them unable to let go of the past and negligent to the present. It’s interesting to see how differently they all react to similar feelings. I noticed that Faye and the Woman in the Blonde Wig had this compelling parallel that dealt with mystery, and a front of a sort put up as a mask and distraction. Both of these women seemed to have these goals and a world around them that oriented them in a way that would have them facing everything ahead of them—anything that could take them away from what they already know. Cop 663 and He Zhiwu had these desires so true and soft, yet painful, that could only be caused by emptiness and heartbreak. I loved how the film portrayed the rescue attempts that these guys made on themselves, especially He Zhiwu’s. I hadn’t noticed it before, but his vomiting from his over-excessive indulgence in the expired pineapples is something so simple, yet genuinely powerful. It serves as a reminder that even though it may feel good in one moment to live in a world that once was, in the very next, you’ll come to realize just how much you’re actually suffering on the inside—and that can’t be solved by placing an ill-fitting plug over a drain that’s straining your essence.

I can’t lie and say that it wouldn’t be easier to just push everything down, because the real challenge is picking myself up and swimming against the current to finally reach true peace. With everything that goes on in my life, it’s difficult not to become distracted, so if there’s one thing that I can praise myself for, it’s being addicted to feeling anything. I’m glad that I give myself the time of day to sit with myself and externalize the good and bad conditions in which life leaves me. I’ve been empty before, and it’s not a nice feeling. Knowing just how bad it feels to have nothing swirling in my mind and heart—and the loneliness and aimlessness that it brings—is the exact thought that keeps me from returning to that state. I suppose it’s effortless when it pertains to him; he is someone actually worth having in my life. Knowing that the happiness with which he fills me will eventually be something that I’ll have to say “goodbye” to is precisely what I hope to use to push myself forward instead of giving way to a void.

Film XII: “春光乍洩” - “Happy Together” (1997)

Why is there beauty in loving someone you don’t want?

There’s something so hypnotic about this film and how it presents a situation as uncomfortable as two men clawing at the layers of the other, knowing deep down that things won’t end well, yet letting it unfold almost like a graceful dance between them. I’ll add that this film probably made me so uncomfortable to the point at which I actually couldn’t enjoy it. It held such divinely everyday worlds that made the characters feel like they were trying to remain afloat as they glided or sank through the space. Additionally, such simple words spoken in the midst of conversation felt like knives taken to my ears—almost as if the reflecting that one does on what was said would only bring about painful realizations, only hurting because you’ve come to understand that there’s a universe of truth within that revelation.

I’m starting to see just how much I appreciate the presence of the symbols and metaphors in this film, like the lighthouse serving as this beacon of rediscovery and guidance. To me, it has this double meaning where it also acts as a place to which someone is lured back by someone who is imperfect for them, and how once they reach this person, there’s a feeling of safety and comfort that only ever really comes from the fear of the unknown that comes with being alone. However, the lighthouse and Iguazú Falls are both things mostly hidden until toward the end of the film, signifying just how unattainable they are—just like a true connection between Po-wing and Fai. A journey took place from the beginning of the film, and the means through which Fai reached the falls was not the path the two of them took initially. It was always doomed to split into two, because for them, the trip to get there was one that they were never meant to take together.

I feel like, in a connection, we all crave rhythm—one mutually shared. Two hearts need to each beat at the same pace as well as one different; that’s how love grows. Finding our ways back to a compatible beat is how we both reach the ambiguous destination.

Po-wing and Fai’s search to reach that destination is what I’d say is the power of love—trying so hard to return to what once was, desperately digging for the answers to fix things that should remain broken. That effort is what makes love so mysterious and ravishing. For someone to have such an irresistible urge and desire to salvage something so deadly is a reminder of its godlike and unexplainable abilities. No matter how ugly things can become between two mortal, natural beings, it’s behind that layer of ugliness that lies the glimmer of something so entrancing.

Film XIII: “Queer” (2024)

Where does desire come from?

I discover more about this film every time I watch it. There’s such a tremendously delightful feeling that develops inside of me as I see how everything about this story just glues itself together as it progresses. It’s all ambiguous yet so full of clarity, something so visually surreal that it truly makes me understand the value and purpose of motion picture. No matter where, when, or how I watch this, I feel transported into a completely different world—a world soaked in a color evoking both dread and awe simultaneously.

Unexpectedly, this time around, I fell deeper in love with Doctor Cotter’s words to Eugene. Desire is a funny thing. I feel like it swells inside of you in the form of some unknown force, and when it finally comes out, it brings about this wave of sentiment that you weren’t prepared for. That’s what seemed to have happened between Eugene and William—a desire so well hidden inside both of them that, when given even the slightest push, it willingly jumps from the cliff, knowing it has to emerge before it reaches the ground. Considering that the men’s experience was unlike any other that Doctor Cotter had witnessed, just how amazed she was makes me wonder where that comes from—something so profound forming between two people seemingly out of thin air. A connection’s appearances are infinite, so honestly, I greatly suppose that it’s less about where their connection lies and more about how and why it surfaced in the way that it did. And with that, I can’t think of a better way to show how much that relates to the queer experience of that time—people unknown to themselves, being deprived of something for so long that it’s like your body has been whisked away, leaving the soul without an identity as it holds its yearning and intense desire as close as possible, never letting go. To me, this means that it arises as a result of prolonged and painful suppression—the point at which you just can’t bear to contain it anymore, when you release your arms and a flood pours out from you.

I eventually had to understand why I feel so deeply about him, why I want him more than anything. With this film, I’m finally taking the steps toward the explanation. I have concealed so much of myself over the years since my adolescence; I do believe it has almost everything to do with my sexual identity. It’s like I’ve been deprived of food for a century, and when I’m finally provided with something to eat, I devour it. That’s not to say that there’s inauthenticity or a lack of true connection accompanying the sheer concept and sentiment of desire; it’s just one of many meanings applied to our natural attachment to feeling and connection. I find it to be pretty compelling, as well as tragic and beautiful.

Film XIV: “Storia d’amore” - “A Tale of Love” (1986)

Cosa sto sacrificando per far funzionare questo legame?

A volte, le cose sono semplici come raggiungere il proprio limite. Quando si dà così tanto agli altri come Bruna, non passa molto tempo prima che si inizi a prendersi cura di sé stessi. È molto interessante perché per lei, lasciare Sergio per Mario era il suo modo di scegliere di prioritizzare sé stessa. La sua vita è piena di curare tutto tranne sé stessa, e queste azioni mostrano come una sola persona insicura sia abbastanza per farti rendere conto che non è quello di cui hai bisogno—tutto quello che farà è amplificare gli sforzi e i sacrifici, che è troppo per una persona che cerca di tenere insieme tutto.

Nei temi di questo film, ho realizzato quanto sacrifico per lui. Ho sempre saputo che l’ho scelto prima degli altri e, prima di guardare questo film, mi sentivo in colpa, ma ora realizzo quanto di me do agli altri. Dopo aver affrontato questo fatto, sento che merito, anche solo un poco, di fare le cose che faccio: faccio buca ai miei amici, creo cose solo per lui, parlo sempre di lui con i miei amici. Una parte di me si sentirebbe in colpa se lui non fosse lì per me nei momenti in cui i miei amici non ci sono—è sicuramente questo che lo rende così potente e i miei sentimenti abbastanza indiscutibili. Le conseguenze di questi sentimenti vibranti sono che non sto solo sacrificando cose che mi fanno male per lui, ma mi sento in modo così intenso che ho iniziato a considerare di rinunciare a me stessa e alla mia vita per lui: rimanere in città dopo l’università, trovare un lavoro qui che so non mi soddisferà, e così via. Lui sarebbe l’unica cosa nella mia vita in cui trovo la gioia. Lui capisce che è l’ora dell’inizio della mia vita; sono io che non vuole accettarla. Inoltre, sarà la mia responsabilità vivere per me. Il fatto che voglia più per me di quanto voglia io la dice lunga. Suppongo che il modo in cui mi sento derivi dal non voler ricominciare con un’altra persona quando credo che lui sia la persona perfetta e unica per me.

Più tempo passa, più inizio a realizzare come mi sbarazzo di cose come l’onestà e la genuinità—forse per proteggermi, per confortarlo. Non chiede nulla da me, mi apprezza anche quando sono troppo nervosa per essere onesta o no. Ma se dovessi almeno dire a me stessa il vero, direi che non sono sicura di chi sono con lui e senza di lui, allora c’è qualcosa che sacrifico davvero? Se sì, che cosa? E se no, significa che è troppo tardi per me trovarmi?

Film XV: “The History of Sound” (2025)

What is the purpose of everything that we choose to speak for us?

When I discovered this film, I knew that I wanted it to be the last one that I watched for this “film collecting trip,” if you will, for music is our primary way of connecting with one another. What I enjoy most about me and him is that despite our being from differing generations and differences in general, our openness has allowed both of us to share ourselves with one another through sound and music. I’m certain that I’ve spoken of it when writing about other films, but the things that we create—songs, books, films, etc., art—they’re the biggest culprits responsible for connection among humans. Such a small thing like music can create something huge with just the slightest nudge. “Memory” is what I would boil this film and everything that I’ve found in it down to. The journey that Lionel and David embarked on, and the people they met, the songs they sang, the stories to which they listened, showed me that these kinds of universal powers are a whirlpool that meshes the past, present, and future to their truest form: a memory. Once formed, a memory will always be exactly that, for one cannot come to be without significance held by at least one being.

I’ve talked about in many films how love and loss are a pair. I’ve had to let go of parts of myself in order for others to grow, and with that came my search for the parts that I only believe to have lost. For me, to be so in awe of someone introduces losing sight of myself, unable to access the library of myself for even a second. In that aimlessness is where I’m quiet, not sure what to say, listening to him speak or sing. Longing for connection, I meet him where he stands, give way to other sounds—my feelings vocalized by the singing of others hit the air, and I take two steps back as now it’s his turn to meet me where I stand. Thus it begins: the mutually endless dancing of communication and connection. Whether or not we choose to sing, possibly hiding behind the words, is unimportant, for we know that the circulation of sound alone is enough for us to look the other in the eyes and learn so much about each other without having to say a word. It’s not fear this time, but a yearning for knowledge about someone who makes things so simple. Hence, a memory containing the past worlds that made them, the present full of peace, desire, and ease, and the future, making the memory precisely what it is—a portal to a timeless flood of all that was in a single moment.

Us humans are outnumbered by the things we create, and yes, those inanimate things speak much more loudly than we do, telling stories from books we wouldn’t dare even turn the cover of. So, since I stare at an empty reflection, lost for words, I’ll give music the key to my mind’s library and let it read from any book it chooses.

Chapter II: Music

With these fifteen albums, I hope to confront the parts of myself that are aware of all things fleeting. Context worthy of mention is the nearly three-month gap between the final film watch and the first prospective album listen. Throughout that time, we’ve each had the chance to acknowledge and declare feelings of love, connection, and change found within one another, as well as recognized that this connection we have will simply not work out for us. With me finding the most clarity I’ve ever gotten with him—and it seemingly having to do with everything that could go wrong—it has created within me a mindset of prospection, pessimism, contentment, and forlorn hope. What this selection of albums will introduce that the films couldn’t is a definitely deeper understanding of his perspective and outlook through the further discovery of myself with the music and artists that have shaped him as well as me. Additionally, my reflections on these albums will undoubtedly be much more focused on the impending doom that surrounds me. They are to dangle a conclusion above me as I scramble for answers to comfort the pieces of me that won’t let go of this for a long time. Inconsistency will take a stance here as well as I struggle between gazing upon what I hope will somehow be real and hesitantly looking at what truly is.

Album I: “Grace” (1994) - Jeff Buckley

When love feels this transcendent, are we saved by it or unraveled?

It’s quite a weird feeling being able to hear myself in the stories spoken by Jeff on this album; I don’t think I ever expected myself to make it this far in love. He carries these feelings of devotion, sacrifice, and surrender in a way that should make me understand what I’ve gone and done to myself. And yet, as human as I am—as we all are—it only makes me want to run faster after the love that I chase as it grows harder to see at the horizon. His vibrato and high-tenor voice in tracks like “Last Goodbye” make me weak as it reminds me of a sorrow I’m all too familiar with at the thought that nothing lasts. With every song here, he transports me to a state of mind in which I can remember why love—and the longing and despair that comes with it—is something that I can’t let go of. It is also something that speaks to my desire for connection and the bodily and emotional sacrifices that I put myself through when I’ve finally found it. “I love you / But I’m afraid to love you” from “So Real” whispers to me that there are parts of myself that are hidden so deep inside of me that I’m not sure who I am without this. This love and connection that I’ve found runs my life, making me so happy and shaping me more into the person who I want to be while erasing the things I thought that I wanted for myself. It puts me in a space of confusion as I try to understand if the happiness that I’ve found is something I’d want to stay around forever. Is it something I want, as I’ve always said, or would I eventually grow to regret it?

For him, everything he’s said for why it wouldn’t work out points to me looking back and regretting my decision, although I wouldn’t assume so from where I’m standing. From our age difference to our life stages, everything should’ve alarmed me that the odds were not in our favor, despite how much we may want them to be.

This is a powerful connection we have—it is. It has changed both of us, allowed us to grow and discover parts of this world that were hiding from us before, but most of all, I feel that it awakened something that we never thought would arise from when we first met. For me, this is life-altering—I never expected to find something like this with anyone, especially so young. It’s made me want more than the huge and simple life I worked toward before him, which has become a much smaller and more complex reality. He’s probably seen these things happen before—being so entranced you lose yourself. If I gain who I want to be when I’m with him and appreciate the things I overlooked for so long, I don’t reckon that there’s a way for me to go on without this. All I ever wanted is the one that’s slipping away, and I can do nothing but try and pull him back before devotion to him greets me as I lie in a solitary life.

Album II: “I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got” (1990) - Sinéad O’Connor

Why do we feel undeserving of the things we’re the ones to push away?

What touches Sinéad’s heart here somehow gracefully unravels itself and finds its way to mine. Life is filled with such ugly things, but it’s through those things, coupled with experience, that we see the birth of empathy, understanding, love, and acceptance. It always feels unreal to look back at yourself and see how time has shaped and molded you.

Sinéad has this voice unlike any other that just rocks my world; I’m not even sure I can describe it. She sings and speaks with an alluring tone that pleads, declares, admits, and acknowledges all at once. Every word, whisper, and hum she releases into the air sends a sharp yet calming chill down my spine. Her stories matter so much; they’re simple, yet so full of force. Lines like “You cause as much sorrow dead / As you did when you were alive” and “The whole time / I’d never seen / All you had spread before me” form a kind of partnership in my mind, one that reflects the potency of pain. A lot of what we go through should be able to kill us, but it’s through that endurance that we find our strength and discover the luminous answers to who we are sitting in front of us. Whether or not we notice it, we are worthy of experience—all of it. And yet, knowing that doesn’t mean we allow ourselves to have it.

I think that’s where this feeling of being undeserving begins, which isn’t in a lack of worth, but in an awareness of fragility. When you’ve been shaped by enough damage, you start to see yourself not just as someone who can feel love, but as someone who can ruin it. So when something good finally sits in your hands—something so soft and real—it doesn’t feel like something you get to keep, but something you’ll eventually break.

If I were to find something deeper—something even easier to ruin—I’d feel lucky just to even hold it. But that’s exactly the problem; holding it becomes the danger. Then, I wonder if it’s better to risk destroying something beautiful, or to walk away before you get the chance. What makes love so precious is its fragility, but that same fragility turns us into threats in our own minds. The more I go through the trials of life that leave me bruised, the more I start to believe I’m not just someone who suffers, but someone who causes suffering. And from there, pushing things away doesn’t feel like loss, but protection. I can only imagine how it is for him as he looks towards me.

Love, even when it isn’t present, has this funny way of still controlling us. It keeps us at arm’s length from what we want most, convincing us that distance is mercy. Because at least being alone—hiding behind fear and restraint—means only one heart shatters instead of two.

Album III: “Love Deluxe” (1992) - Sade

Why does this love feel like it’ll be everlasting even when I’ve left it behind?

Perhaps I say this a lot, but Sade feels otherworldly. I find it strange that a human being is behind music like this; there’s just something about it that makes me feel that I’m not on Earth, listening to something that doesn’t even feel like it should exist—but my goodness, am I grateful that it does. “Love Deluxe” sucks me into this whirlpool of longing and regret that, for some reason, I have no desire to escape.

Her repetition of lyrics in many of the songs reminds me of my own obsessions and recalling of memories. She somehow makes the insanity that comes with love, power, and desire sound soothing; it’s as if every problem I’ve ever had just goes away upon hearing her voice. I admire the pride she has in putting such raw, emotional, and vulnerable stories and feelings out into the world. Love here sits on top of a pedestal, being something that couldn’t be any more worshipped even if I tried. I’d say that in my past, I’ve always let love take a backseat—it wasn’t until recently that my heart truly opened.

My first ever true feelings for him opened it to everything, unleashing a wave of good and bad, and forming a pit in my heart that is empty whenever I’m without these sentiments. I suppose when you’re shown all that you find beautiful, it’s hard to let go of the one who uncovered your eyes. People who have a gift such as that never truly go away, which makes me wonder if meeting him was a blessing or a curse. While I’m not sure if my heart could possibly be opened any wider, I now question if I’ll have to swim through existence trying to escape the permanence of his love in hopes of being able to see life and others without him racing to the front of my mind first.

To see myself and know that I’ll go out into the world and speak to people in sentences with the words of him, and want him by my side every time I see thundering rain or pink evening skies, tells me that my appreciation for life and experience has sprouted because of his presence. Therefore, even when I’ve gone away, I will still continue to feel his ghost by my side.

Album IV: “All My Demons Greeting Me as a Friend” (2016) - AURORA

Am I myself or just a reflection of who lies in my heart?

Oh my, this album has such a way of expressing just how deeply the external world can dive into us, which is definitely something I needed not only to realize, but now to come to terms with. AURORA packs so much into this project that it’s almost overwhelming in how much it teaches me at once. Her voice feels godly and unnatural; it’s as if she’s a figure bestowing wisdom upon me from the mountaintops. She gracefully whispers, yet chants and fills the air in the same instance. Every song feels like its own world, grabbing me by the hand and guiding me through its landscape—it’s a journey through which I’ve learned so much that I’d beg to soak in the falls filled with words from the stories told. There’s this recurring theme of nature and the body, making me feel that my experiences and the evil within them are so natural and mortal that they could just float away. With that, there’s also this presence of transformation and rebirth that AURORA brings, telling me everything comes back as something new and unrecognizable—it’s up to me to learn acceptance of that fact.

Recently, there have been days where I find myself losing my grip, wanting to return to comfort, but out of obsession and desire. Because of that, “Under the Water,” with the lyrics “Under the water, we die / Then, why do we jump in?” and “So many souls that lost control / Where did they fall? / Into the deep, what do they seek?” made me take a step back and think about what it is that I truly want. When I have every answer, when I understand every part of him, what more am I looking for? I’ll admit that I’m holding onto an unfathomable amount of hope, and I’m realizing that it might be my hopes that stifle me.

It’s from that realization that my thoughts begin to turn inward. As I stagnate and fall deeper into my habits, addictions, and vices, I’ve started to wonder who it is that I’m becoming. Are simple things like my even further indulgence in music at home, smoking, and the clothes I put on at the day’s start my attempt at feeling closer to him, or has he been implanted in my mind, forever meshed with my identity from before? If becoming a reflection of him is what I’m turning into, I’d say that there are two internal transformations happening simultaneously—a form of becoming more myself, even if it means continuing to live without this love but still carrying it within me in some way, and another that loses more of myself in an attempt to feel closer to him when we’re apart. Could I be on the verge of something new, or is this so powerful that my essence is damned to chase him?

Album V: “Hats” (1989) - The Blue Nile

Is truth something I want, or something I fear?

Underneath sorrowful synths and words of yearning and ponderation lies something truly profound. “Hats” paints this slow and crowded world of loneliness so well. As I sit alone in my room listening to this, I somehow feel that I’m standing in the middle of every person on Earth, gazing over a sea of blurred faces.

Paul’s words only push me deeper into my mind as I begin to relive all of my moments of guessing before I came face to face with what—to my surprise—was real. I’ve always been one to overthink, especially when it comes to love and risking my heart; I feel most people are like that. I can’t think of a single moment in which I haven’t overanalyzed a simple text message, the tone of a word, or a step taken back. Maybe it’s that I try to make sense of the mess that is even the purest of connections, or it could be that I look away from the sensible conclusions that have already been drawn before me, attempting to understand something clear as day that I’m choosing not to comprehend.

When we last spoke on the phone, I was hit with, “So for you, it’s everything or nothing?” At the time, I probably said something along the lines of meeting at the threshold, still wanting to feel loved without losing him. For him, it was “something is better than nothing,” which is the space that was killing me the minute we started reverting to just friends. The more I think about it, the more I come to understand the selfish game that is our love—each of us wanting what we want and refusing to give the other what they wish for. I’ve tried to give up my wishes for him, to be who I believe he wants me to be, but I can only keep up the act for so long before my heart and desires give in—those are the times in which I feel I should be selfish. But now, I think of all he’s done and admitted. If he’s locked away his love for me to protect me and unbound my heart, is that not an act of nobility and sacrifice?

In situations like these, what’s really true? Is it our feelings for one another, or the feelings we push away to protect each other? In a dark and deeply buried place inside of me, I want it to be the latter, because at least that would mean what we felt was strong enough to be suppressed. But I also dread that being true, because it would mean we’ll never dance again, never feel each other, never speak the way we once did. And maybe that’s the unbearable truth I’m left with—that love can be entirely real, and still never become the life you want to live.

Album VI: “Hounds of Love” (1985) - Kate Bush

Can an open heart survive what it lets in?

Kate seriously has such a way. Her voice sounds like it was cast from all that’s both delicate and dangerous; it puts me in a trance and places upon me a feeling evoking both awe and pure ecstasy. I’m forever appreciative and grateful for her and her artistry. She’s created here a story and sentiment with so much tension and familiarity that I feel as though she’s speaking directly to me. Foremost, I thoroughly enjoyed the adjacent tracks “Under Ice” and “Waking the Witch.” They’re these vast soundscapes full of numerous voices that somehow still speak to me as a climactic monologue, reminding me of the pleading that takes place within me as I struggle to save myself—a mind and body that might be too far gone to preserve itself alone.

I really do adore how she portrays love here as something threatening that’s chasing her down; I’ve never really thought of it like that. Obviously, this feeling only arises once it’s felt for the first time. It’s scary when it finds you again because, in the threshold between feeling and not, the obsession with closing yourself off develops. When what you felt before was something so special, how could that obsession not form when you discover that feeling wouldn’t last? Is it even worth it to put myself through this again if I’m likely to find myself standing in the same spot?

Recently, I don’t even think I realized just how vulnerable I’ve been—I hadn’t noticed how I placed my heart on an unprotected pedestal, probably because the love I received was just that much more powerful than any strike taken against it. Perhaps being hurt makes you stronger, although it doesn’t feel like it. It sucks the life out of me, but perseverance in those instances of pain may be impacting me in ways that I won’t understand for years.

I believe that both love and the vulnerability required to reach it have the power to save and devour us. Thinking about this might be the first time I truly understand the intensity of feeling; it reigns over so much that I’m willing to risk being hurt again if it means I can have it. That creates a sort of dependency on what love brings, as opposed to the verity of true connection. The only way to break that would be to allow myself to be saved—but maybe that’s where my problems stemmed. I’ve realized that my own drowning might’ve come from trying to save him before myself. We can always reach our hands out for one another, but at the day’s end, if we turn completely away from ourselves, we’ll only sink further.

Album VII: “Avalon” (1982) - Roxy Music

Is understanding myself liberation, or just another beautiful illusion?

I’ve always loved the songs from “Avalon,” but I will say that I expected this album as a whole to move me a lot more than it did. That is not to say that it didn’t impact me. It’s not raw devastation, but more an introspective dream that—to my surprise—feels familiar. It pulls forth this feeling of nostalgia that, to me, feels almost like carrying the regret of experiencing. It’s fascinating to think about—it reminds me of “Everything Everywhere All at Once” in how it briefly explores that feeling of overwhelm from the sheer and inescapable act of living.

It makes me wonder what would happen if I never lived through the things that I did. Would it be an easy trade to rid myself of those moments if I were presented with the offer? Or would I choose to continue on, carrying the natural course of my life with me forever? Sometimes, I think about how I’d love to return to all that was before I considered myself hurt and ruined, but then, I obviously wouldn’t know who I’d be.

The life I live is all I know, so it’s the only thing that can shape me; therefore, it’s my only gateway to finding who I am. I suppose that goes back to every film and album I’ve used to turn inward, because my identity is the box that holds within it everything that happens to me.

I’ve felt for a while now that the only key to learning about myself was meditating on my experiences, but I feel like there’s this sort of obsession with that act that can form and eventually alienate me from my life; it’s as if I become so wrapped up in trying to avoid the things I deem bad that I forget how to live. To a certain extent, introspection can help us progress in how we treat others and ourselves, but there’s a point where fear of something that may or may not happen stops us from pursuing the things that could actually help us grow.

When you’re trapped in that bubble, it becomes difficult to escape. We think we know ourselves, and the pride we exude in that belief—declaring it loudly with definition and certainty—couldn’t push us farther from the reality that we know almost nothing about ourselves when we choose fear and the past over prospective growth and the exploration of new horizons.

Album VIII: “Diva” (1992) - Annie Lennox

What makes us finally reveal the parts of ourselves we tried to hide?

I’m truly grateful that Annie put this piece of art out into the world. Before today, I’d only listened to “Why” and “Walking on Broken Glass”—this album only tightened its grasp on me the more it progressed. She has this way of bringing to light all of the things that go on under the surface in a way that produces an energy I just can’t turn away from. From the search for truth to the loss of life through the loss of love, all the way to understanding the impermanence of oneself and how we’re not invincible, Annie really understands love on a universal level, even when she shows it through the lens of fame.

I spent the past week researching what it means to be queer or to have a queer attitude in contemporary art, music, and film from the 1980s to the present day, and one of the main ideas I landed on was the act of showing the things we hide. Similarly, experiencing feelings so strong that the only way to find release is to externalize them in some way. I’m quite happy with that assignment because the way I defined queerness, this album, what it means, and what I wanted to reflect on while listening to it all align so naturally. When looking at the reality Annie conveys, I feel that it’s when we settle on the fact that we have nothing left to lose that our emotions become strongest—when we feel such an unbearable buildup that the flood can no longer hold itself back.

I admit that I’m reaching that state now with every page I write, but I’ve also been there before—I’d say we both have when it pertains to one another. In the past, the uncertainty surrounding why our feelings were growing only caused our fears to grow alongside them because of everything those feelings could signify and introduce. For him, I can only imagine why the words suddenly gushed from his mouth: perhaps respect for me, the pain of trying to endure his feelings, or maybe preferring the outcome of speaking over silence. I’m sure he’s experienced something like this before, so who knows but him.

However, when I responded to his release with my own, where did that come from? Was it simply the strong emotions that I had buried for so long finally finding it safe to emerge, or could it still have been its own declaration? I feel a significant part of it had to do with my heart realizing there was another beating for it as well. Ideas like that make me wonder how long I could’ve continued had he never said anything at all.

It’s really fascinating to think about myself—us, even—in this way; it makes me realize that things can be so clear and still provoke endless inquisition.

Album IX: “Norman Fucking Rockwell!” (2019) - Lana Del Rey

How can we love someone amidst the destruction inside and around us?

This album has lived within me ever since it found its way to my ears. It always bewilders me—her craft. She switches between these feelings of longing, decay, and nostalgia throughout this record, and suddenly—for a moment—I’m at peace with the idea that everything is this circle with a single splice, and once it reaches the end, that’s it.

The story of love and loss leaves me full of desiring expression, yet lost for words. I adore how she portrays America as this bubble of gold that, once popped, will never regain what it lost; she intertwines that idea with everything we experience as people navigating existence. With a story holding both desolation and prosperity simultaneously—and my fascination with that combination—“Cinnamon Girl,” with “...All the pills that you take / Violet, blue, green, red to keep me / At arm's length don't work...,” speaks to me as a reflection of the counterproductive measures we take in order to avoid confronting what we’ve gone through, and how those measures leave us distant from and unaware of the people who truly make us feel. Sometimes, we become so lost trying to find the nearest exit that we fail to realize that what—or who—we’re running from might actually know the way.

Occasionally, I reach points in my thoughts where I wonder if it’s possible to live through and cherish a connection when what we put ourselves through is so detrimental. For some reason, the barrenness surrounding us makes me feel that it’s something that pulls us closer together. It leaves us holding onto each other for comfort and understanding. It’s the way we approached the world and the people in it that made us so close, and within each other, we found a mini-world where we could escape from everything outside of us, enjoying something endlessly mesmerizing within a single person.

Something like that seems compelling, but if that’s the case, does what exists between us end because of nature, or because we ourselves pulled the plug?

As I ponder internal destruction, I don’t like what I’ve found, as it feels that we’ve strayed so far from the paths we set for ourselves that there’s seemingly no way to find the point where they once converged. Perhaps our vices destroyed us, or maybe—with more certainty—we destroyed ourselves. As we latched onto the love we shared, it became less about living and more about clinging for life, so maybe neither of us were ready for what happened. Even though every moment, every word spoken, and every touch felt like life itself, it all seems to have been too exciting for us to notice how it was eating away at us from perhaps the very beginning.

Album X: “Tango in the Night” (1987) - Fleetwood Mac

Why does healing sometimes feel more frightening than heartbreak?

I’m absolutely in love with how they sound here. I dare say that this is their strongest record from the ones I’ve heard thus far. Their voices are godly in how they deliver and depict all that’s meant to stay with me; they’re harmonious in how they’ve created this world for all of them to flourish within. It’s that harmony that makes me feel that none of us are truly alone, as their voices together forge this radiating energy. It’s a sort of fable that describes lessons of the danger of feeling, connection, and the ways we experience endings.

Chills run through my body as I listen to “Mystified.” They build that feeling of entrancement so beautifully through twinkling synthesizers and the slow, sensual repetition of “You got me mystified” that it’s nearly painful as I stand facing dress forms in class, longing for touch like I never have before. As “Little Lies” plays now, I’m realizing just how much farther I still have to go on this journey. This album—how it sounds and all that it speaks of—truly is this disheartening reminder of how broken I might be. It’s doing something to me that I don’t like, or maybe it’s simply bringing to the surface what was buried deep inside.

Lately, this path of self-discovery that I’ve placed myself on is starting to become unbearable. When this separation first began, I was surprisingly okay for the most part—maybe that’s because I avoided the places where I knew he was likely to be. I wouldn’t bike down his street, and I kept my visits to my friends up where he worked brief. I believe I went over a month without seeing him, but I’ve seen him unexpectedly five times. As I slipped into forgetting his face and feeling like I could never look at him again, suddenly seeing him on consecutive days leaves me feeling haunted by this “Enchanting Ghost” (as Sufjan Stevens would put it) that I just can’t look away from—hoping it comes closer.

The more I write, the more I uncover the truth, which is that I’m far from healed. I feel his shadowy presence more and more, and the hold I have over myself is slipping. When I was living my life contentedly without him this past month, I felt myself getting better, but that feeling soon dissolved.

I don’t want to live without him, whether he’s by my side or not. As I imagined a life for myself with someone else, I cried at the thought of moving on. I fear the part of him that lives inside of me disappearing, because how could I continue on as myself? Would I even be able to move forward, or, if this feeling is permanent, am I sentenced to an uncontrollable solitude as I refuse to loosen the grip my heart has on his soul? To have been filled by him to the extent that I was makes me feel that nobody could ever come close, so why even try?

Album XI: “Process” (2017) - Sampha

Where does letting go even begin?

Sampha was probably the first artist here that I went into without any prior expectations. I didn’t have an idea of what it would sound like or what it would speak of, but I’m definitely glad that I added it to the list. I get a bit lost at certain points, but he always seems to help me find my way back through how he articulates himself and expresses his feelings. He seems to personify his emotions and the darkness surrounding him, which I find particularly interesting.

“I swear they smell the blood on me / I hear them coming for me” strikes me as this inevitable force born from hurt and grief—like being hunted after loss has already marked you. To become so disheartened that it creates violence and terror truly speaks to how unpredictable all of this really is. “(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano” is another track that’s simply heartbreaking to listen to; such small things can define and live within us, and it’s often those small things that somehow form such enormous feelings. How do you even continue on after losing someone who made you feel something so beautiful?

A lot of what I learned here lies at the beginning of this record within “Plastic 100°C.” His inclusion of Neil Armstrong’s words, “I'll work my way over into the sunlight here without / looking directly into the sun,” caressed me the moment I heard it. Despite living in darkness, it carries this emotion of hope and lifts this horizon where, at its edge, there’s a bright light that makes me feel life could continue on without him.

I yearn extensively for the answers that can finally push me through, but maybe the key is simply to follow blindly, trusting that one day you’ll eventually reach some kind of calm. It’s always difficult for me—for us—to believe there’s something more waiting ahead when we can’t yet see it, causing us to remain standing in place. Maybe that’s because the unknown is uncomfortable and holds the most terrifying things our minds can manifest, or maybe being stagnant is our version of “letting go”—remaining still while we watch the people we love walk away into their own light.

Album XII: “Blue” (1971) - Joni Mitchell

When does emotional honesty become remorse?

If she wasn’t already there—which I doubt—Joni Mitchell has definitely made her way onto my imaginary list of living legends with this record. I wish I could count how many times my body ran cold with chills upon hearing her soft, sweet voice singing tales of love, devastation, sorrow, and hope. This is all so full of golden conversation that I feel as though it’s a chat I’m having with a friend whom I haven’t seen in years. It has this quality that makes it feel like the release of life itself. It’s phenomenal how she takes such vulnerable and wonderful experiences and creates poetry that’s honest beyond comprehension; I’m inspired by her truthfulness. With storytelling being at the forefront, I’d expect the instrumentals to barely whisper in my ear, but there’s something about the piano in “Blue” after she sings “A foggy lullaby” that somehow means so much to me. It reminds me of the naturalness and simplicity of feeling, which, to me, is simply following and trusting your heart and what your body tells you.

There’s an innocence I sense in her work that I deeply relate to. Songs like “My Old Man,” with its veracious recounting of love and what it means to feel loved, and “The Last Time I Saw Richard,” in how it holds onto the purity of love, both comfort and scare me as I think about how something so precious can eventually begin to weather. I feel so much right now, but I think this album’s insistence on following what you truly feel also made me question whether things were ever as they seemed.

I find myself regretful of opening up and closing the space between us; I feel that it unleashed this huge wave of fear between the both of us, and I wonder if it would’ve been better to keep our emotions restrained in order to prevent it. When I take a step back and look at everything we had, I hate myself for not appreciating the human being that I found. I always wanted more—him fully, just us. I was so selfish in fighting for a space where we let in no others that I didn’t realize how guilty I’d eventually feel because I withheld the true reason: wanting no other guy but me to have him. Other guys never seemed to be an issue for him; I always imagined it was more about feeling something that drew him to me over another. So, in this moment, I wonder if he feels any kind of way regarding how and why he kept me around because I always told myself there was more beneath his surface.

I don’t deny either of our feelings. We were honest about our love, but I feel there were other parts of ourselves that we kept buried. So maybe it isn’t only the hurt we caused that we regret, but the truths we never fully allowed ourselves to speak.

Album XIII: “Currents” (2015) - Tame Impala

What happens when time changes us before we’re ready?

I’ve been listening to Tame Impala for over a decade now—ever since I was introduced to “The Less I Know The Better.” He was one of the first artists in my adolescence to catapult me into the wide world of music that I live in now. However, his music and stories didn’t begin affecting me as profound inspirations for how I live my life until “The Slow Rush.” He’s taught me so much about being someone who lives, fears, triumphs, celebrates, ignores, accepts, and so much more. Everything he does carries an authenticity that makes me latch onto it, whether immediately or somewhere down the line. I find the latter occurring much more. Often, his songs don’t sit with me upon my first listen. It feels as though only after time has passed and I’ve lived through certain moments do his songs suddenly take over my life, which is something I enjoy, as it makes me feel like I’ve truly encountered them for the first time when they were finally ready for me—or me for them. That’s something I feel lies at the core of “Currents”—readiness and the ability to roll with the punches and changes hurtling toward you. Songs like “Let It Happen” and “The Moment” push that idea forward clearly. While one accepts inevitability, the other emphasizes waiting for what’s to come through acceptance and allowing nature to run its course. As much as we’d like to have control over everything outside of us, we don’t, and there’s a kind of freedom in letting go of the idea that we ever truly did. It’s nice to have this album to remind me of that.

Meeting him and everything that’s happened between us has evidently and drastically changed me for both the better and worse. Oddly enough, I’m more afraid of how I’ve grown. I feel like detachment and space make my heart swell, with there only being a matter of time before it bursts for someone else, and that feels like the beginning of a cycle that would only bring about more hurt for both me and another. How am I supposed to know when I’m actually ready to feel something with someone else, especially after experiencing it in a way I never had with him? It seems like a lengthy trail, and I might just have to accept that the only way forward is to suck it up and start walking if I want something like this again.

We’ve talked before about how we’ve changed through finding one another. When I think back to those conversations, I begin wondering whether we ever should’ve met at all. What we had seemed too blinding for either of us to notice the internal battles we should’ve fought before taking things as far as we did. And now, instead of returning to who we were before, we’re left trying to understand the people we became because of each other.

Album XIV: “So” (1986) - Peter Gabriel

What remains of us once this connection becomes a memory?

Peter Gabriel has one of the most identifiable voices I’ve ever heard; it’s so full of soul and melancholy that I feel myself on the verge of exploring the worlds he creates in every song he sings. It’s a strange feeling, but it’s such an obviously natural part of his craft, and I find it absolutely vital to how deeply his stories settle into my mind.

“So” is such a great album. Everything surrounding him and the creation of this album could easily feel coldly manufactured, but I unexpectedly feel the opposite. The simple title paired with straightforward yet profound songs shows me just how uncomplicated all of this really is. Nothing here hits like a knife to the heart, but that works greatly in his favor. He’s simply honest with himself and with the world, and that’s something to admire. Almost always, I find myself searching for things to represent me so I can mask how I truly approach my feelings, but it’s that kind of candidness that actually moves us in a meaningful direction. “Mercy Street” and his appreciation for Anne Sexton definitely point toward the core of all this—honesty. I feel that honesty and truthfulness, especially with ourselves, are among the most important things to strive for, as they’re how we find answers to the questions over which we spiral.

Today, I found myself deeply in my head—about many things, but specifically asking myself what music I even listened to before him. Music has always been a huge part of my life, just as it seems to be for him. He showed me so many artists and songs unknown to me before we met, and they’ve now completely overtaken my life. When someone so beautiful can show you things just as captivating outside of themselves, it becomes such a precious experience. It’s fascinating to think about how moments like that can overwrite our lives to the point where it feels as though we’ve been born again. And when we eventually part from those people, it can feel like death—but it doesn’t have to be. It takes endurance to continue living while knowing they’ll never truly disappear: passing the street you once biked down together, hearing songs in cafés that they played for you, walking through life knowing you’re in shoes that once walked beside him. It’s all about finding a way to continue onward while understanding that the moment they entered your life, they’d never truly leave.

Acceptance and the unwillingness to let go seem to exist within me simultaneously, and maybe that’s something I simply have to live with. I just need to remain honest with myself and understand that there will be moments when I won’t be okay—but there will also be moments when I will.

Album XV: “Long Lost” (2021) - Lord Huron

What now?

“Long Lost” is the final piece of this letter, and it’s the first to leave me lost for words of self-expression as I sit in silence with an empty mind for minutes while “Time’s Blur” plays on—I reckon that’s exactly the purpose of the album’s closing.

This body of work is perfectly crafted; all it ever does is make me feel. I cycle between numerous feelings, and ultimately, I’m left with an appreciation for both how much and how little of my internal world this album pulls from me. The album moves through regret, longing, hurt, and acceptance, though none of those feelings ever seem fully separate from one another. It’s like he understands that some occurrences and their outcomes are inevitable, and the raw, honest way through which he tells his stories causes all his doubts, questions, and revelations to spill out unintentionally, as though they’re living in the past, present, and future all at once. It’s deeply human. The true power of this album is that every song is so emotionally rich that it becomes almost unexplainable, leaving me wondering what to do with myself and nothing more. Truly, what am I to do?

Maybe, getting lost might actually be the way forward. It’s strange because being lost is supposed to mean being without direction or recognition, yet it’s been this deviation from my old ways that has finally lifted the fog from my mind—and maybe I resist admitting that because I still think so often about returning. “Long Lost,” with the words “I've got a place in the world and I found out where / Out in the night, all alone in the way out there” offered me a great deal of comfort this time around in my uncertainty about where I’m headed, because maybe somewhere along the way I’ll come across an oasis—one I hope I wouldn’t ruin.

As moments converge and my feelings continue to expand, I find myself standing at the edge with the choice of either jumping forward or retracing my steps, and I imagine it’s a place I’ll stand for many years. I can only hope that I truly learn something from what’s happened, because I often pretend that I haven’t as a means of returning to what once was. “What Do It Mean,” with its existentialism and praise for living and experience, will continue to live within me as I try to remember that all of this is temporary and that I don’t want to live with regret. All the things I “should” and “shouldn’t” do begin to feel obsolete as I move through existence and love as though I’ll never experience them again. I still don’t know what that life looks like, but maybe that uncertainty is part of the beauty of it all. Perhaps the point isn’t to have the answers now, but to continue onward long enough for those empty thoughts to eventually bloom into something meaningful.

A part of me always knew that when I reached the end of this, I’d still feel aimless, but with all of this, I think I’ve learned that that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. What we put ourselves through was something we needed; it was heartbreaking, blinding, lovely, unexpected, but most of all, special. The time we shared is something that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Every song, every dance, every smoke, every kiss, every late night, every morning after, every argument, every eternal conversation—I continue to carry them with me as I navigate life and discover new parts of myself that will inevitably find traces of you within them.

No matter what has happened or what will happen between us, there’s no denying the ways in which we’ve grown. It really shows just how painful introspection can be, but also the beautiful outcomes that can sprout from it, if we allow them to. I feel that we’re similar when it comes to looking away from the joy that good things could bring us. Certainly, neither of us knew what we were really getting into, yet we shut our eyes and stood in place because it felt wonderful to exist in the present together, both knowing and refusing to acknowledge where we might end up.

So in that sense, we were both pretty aimless—and lost. And despite everything, I’m grateful to have gotten lost with you.

And just like that, it became a part of me.