short stories · Uncategorized · Writing Samples

On Repeat

The music crackles and he takes my hand for the very first time. The record spins, he spins me with it. We laugh. We dance. We kiss. His song is on repeat.

It becomes our song.

It plays at our wedding.

It plays our daughter to sleep. She plays it herself when she is sad. When she leaves home the house feels empty so we fill the rooms with music.

It plays as we grow old.

It plays when he is ill.

It plays at his funeral.

The music crackles and he takes my hand for the very last time.

via Daily Prompt: Record

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