I listen.

This sound blasts through my ears, so strangely lovely in a way no other sound can be. But even so, I hit next.

Maybe if I play enough music, it’ll blast the sound of my heartbeat far away. Maybe I’ll get away from this dirt-stained oasis of lost souls. Maybe it will change the way the world works. Maybe…

But maybe is not an assurance, nor is it possible, in some cases. In most cases. In my case.

So instead, I bring the volume from 6 to 10. My headphones readjust, and therefore my mind goes into a painless numb state. A place, in fact, where no thoughts could reach, no matter how much they try.

And they do try. My own mind sabotages my safe space, and sends memories. Happy ones, where she smiled and laughed to the extent of choking. Neutral ones, before I knew her. And of course, the ones I couldn’t bring my conscience mind to think of. Maybe if I blocked them out, I’d be happy and forget.

But I cannot forget.

From 10 to 14.

The music is so happy and quiet, it becomes eerie.

The windows and long-gone faces of other people slowly begin to become a swirling line with my thoughts. Each one of their faces transforms into hers.

I try to ground myself, to forget the metal chair I am attached to.

Dolly’s voice becomes so vague that her song transforms. It changes scales, replaces guitars with a sorrow piano, trumpets transform into violins. Dolly sounds depressed.

How can Dolly be somebody so perfect, but so saddening? How can her music’s entire base change from my own experience?

14 to 18.

The chorus hits. The sound of violins go back into their original form, and the song sounds upbeat once more. It makes me so sick I debate whether or not to shut it off.

18 to 22.

Her smile. Her freckles. Her death.

22 to 26.

The hospital. Her death. The bill.

26 to 30.

The two thousand empty dollars of bills after she was gone. Her death. The hospital. Her smiles. Her death. Her freckles. Her death.

30 to 50.

My thoughts drown out the music. I change the song, begging for a clean slate, anything to change where I am.

Techno music blasts, so full that my head shouldn’t be able to think and listen at the same time. It’s overwhelming drums should be killing my ears.

But it doesn’t.

50 to 70.

The intro finishes, going into a verse with a bass so shapeless, it fills the whole song. I want to scream and take my headphones off.

All I can think of is her smile.

70 to 80.

Memories are like weapons to the lost.

Coffee trips, hugs, movies. They all blend into a horseback riding trip where we laughed so much, she fell off her horse. I dove after her.

The horses took our freedom as their own, and went galloping away.

We were fined for that one, but kept laughing off the cost. And, at that time, it was worth it.

80 to 90.

I want to be with her, with her smile, with her laugh, with her aura.

The only thing I can breathe is music. It tries to fill up the hollow parts of my heart, to stop the pain from bleeding out my soul.

Soon, I can’t breathe anymore.

91, 92, 93, 94, 95.

We were happy, calm, peaceful, magnetic and bright.

96, 97, 98.

She was joyful, unstoppable and loving.

99.

We were forever.

100.

And all I was was me.

I witnessed what felt like the presence of something greater than anything- no, anybody- in the world around me that was filled with sorrows.

There was only one copy of her spirit, shaped by the world around her.

A bell sounds, in an external rhythm far away from my headphones. It adds to the sense of loss and mistrust that I seem to delve in.

I’m too numb to respond.

All I can do is leave the train.

But not before crushing the headphones with my foot.

And so, I leave the train with a pair of broken headphones, the pain of having to ask somebody to stand up, and, hopefully, the soul-destroying grief for her.