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I Can’t Listen to Luke Combs Anymore
It’s sad, really, that the lyrics that used to make me smile are the ones that fester a deep pain so far in my soul that it’s like a hot iron against naked skin. Luke Combs is still the best, but the problem is, he reminds me of you.
His voice reminds me of the time we quizzed each other so much about our pasts that we couldn’t stop laughing at the absurdity of the relationships we had before there was us.
When I hear the name Luke now, I see us sitting on your couch, clinging to each other as if the outside world didn’t exist. It’s your hand on my knee and my palm pressed against your thigh, wondering how in the hell we got this lucky to find each other.
There’s a moment before Love You Anyway kicks into the first verse that I temporarily forget that I don’t get to love you anymore. As each chord strums, it’s like a timeline of our love story, played out in melodies and lyrics that were once our anthems. These songs are woven so intricately into the fabric of our relationship, now unraveling threads of memories I struggle to hold onto and let go of.
It’s not just the music but the moments encapsulated within them. Like the time Beautiful Crazy played, and you twirled me around the kitchen, our laughter echoing off the walls, just blissfully carefree. Or how When It Rains It Pours became a humorous backdrop to our many adventurous road trips, singing off-key but perfectly harmonious with our happiness.
But now, these songs are more than just melodies; they echo a past that can’t be revisited. They are reminders of ecstasy that slipped through my fingers like grains of sand; each note is a poignant reminder of what was and what can never be again. Once a symbol of passion and elation, his voice now orchestrates a symphony of heartache and longing.
Perhaps one day, I’ll be able to listen to his songs without feeling this piercing ache in my heart. Maybe time will wrap its healing arms around these wounds, and his music will once again bring a smile to my face, untainted by the past. Though most of the memories are ones I wish I could live in forever.
The irony is not lost on me that something that once brought us together is now a vivid reminder of what is broken. It’s a cruel twist of fate that the very thing that was a soundtrack of us is now a score to my heartache.
So, for now, I’ll press skip when Luke Combs comes on the radio. Not because I don’t love him but because I’m still learning to navigate a world where our song is now just my song, and our memories are now just my memories. And maybe, just maybe, in time, I’ll find a new way to love the music that once was ours.
