I’ve been going to spin classes recently and the instructor always plays A Sky Full of Stars towards the end. We played this song at my brother’s funeral and hearing it never fails to make me feel like my soul has been vacuumed out of my body through my belly button. Because it’s such a big-tent-filler track, I usually hear it at inappropriate times to connect with my grief. Weddings, nights out, exercise classes. Despite this, or maybe because of it, I keep going back to the spin class. I stand up in the dark, listening to Chris Martin, and cycle as fast as I can, as if I could travel far far away from that day. Not him. Never him. Just that day.
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