It starts with crickets. We lie in the forest and she sings about colors. Silver and purple at twilight, rubies of emerald glowing. There is nothing to back her voice, only crickets. The words echo and the moon fills up her lungs. Sunlight comes in shafts during the day, she reminds us as we watch the embers die. They burn out and crackle, the day now over. Only crickets remain. Only the moon remains. 

The sun is back. She doesn’t sing, but we feel the beat quickening alongside us. She walks along the river and tells us she wants to get over them. But how can she? How could she ever get over it when the air sticks to them in between? She breathes in, moves up an octave, there is synth creeping in the background. When she exhales, the drums and chorus come in fast. She’s ready to give us more. She really does try. She cuts her hair and re-learns to talk, but nothing can compete with this love she has for them. Nothing can take away the air in between. Now she’s back this time but stronger, deeper, heavier. More instruments saturate the background. There is more love in her voice, more feelings left behind in the words she says over and over again, reminding us she can’t move on and doesn’t have to. 

On + Off comes in with more power than Alaska had. She’s high on emotion, the quiet drumbeat drowning in her ocean of her own love. The drums are quiet at first, the only thing that is present is her voice and the repeating hit of the beat, over and over again. She sees them, and everything hits all at once. She begs to take her to the place where she can see them, where they always go. The repetitive beat has stopped and we’re floating. Music screams at us and begs us on its knees, and we’re ready to give her anything she could ever ask for. We’re ready to find the person and leave them at her feet, it’s only right. But now she’s blue and a mess. Then the chorus repeats, and she’s begging us all over again. After the final words it slows down, her voice fading into the background guitar. She’s silent now and it carries her through the rest of the song.  She ends by telling us to take her where they always go. And you know what? We always will.

Then it’s dog days, and it hurts more than we thought it would. There’s glitter in the rhythm at first. It holds steady and she tells us she counts her time in dog years. It stings, the crackle of the chimes meshing with her delicate voice that is, but isn’t for us, it never was. It’s only for them. We swallow the static and continue on. But then it changes, she goes soft and she’s holding our cheek with one hand and theirs with the other. Everything is changing so fast in the air, but she’s here and she wants them to know she is. The chorus is a mixture of drums, love and heavy symbols. It’s warm, she wants them in the afterlife and she wants them now. She knows their rhythm, and we know she knows. The second verse flows in and it’s filled with more endearment than ever before.  The music is now shifting into something we can’t quite place, a different feeling, deeper in our lungs. The love is breaking out of her and we see her lay by their side, singing them to sleep with a hand on their face. but now it slows down. The piano is gentle, no longer begging, instead it’s fulfilled. Now she repeats the first thing she told us as many times as she can. She counts her time in dog years. 

It’s different now. If it were up to us, we wouldn’t be at the edge of the lake. But we’re here anyway. You, me, her and the only person she thinks she could ever love. She’s standing alone, and we’re watching her, and her feet can’t seem to get a grip on the slippery rocks. Her person turns to leave, we watch as the air in between disappears like the gas it truly is. It was warm last June, even hotter in July, but as we sit in the cold august air, her throat starts to burn with the expectancy of tears. It should be better than this. Better than the sky now turned silver, better than watching them leave, better than the inability to stay up-right on stones. It could be better. They could be better. We know that’s not possible, but she begs anyway.

Shaw Carey (he/it) is a high school senior currently at The Oxbow School in Napa, but lives in San Diego. He enjoys seeing live music, making zines, and taking photos of people he loves.