Train.
On my way home, out from London. There are two things that make me extremely happy: Architecture and Music. The train to King’s Lynn is full—like it always is at five in the afternoon. Seven minutes pass the hour and there’s a hiss as the doors close. A voice announces something halfway important as the train pulls away from Liverpool Street Station in London. My eyes avert to the window. Headphones in. Playlist playing. My head hurts today. I’d hoped the triple-shot white mocha from far cornered station Starbucks would help. But I rest my head on the train wall and watch the buildings start to roll by.
This playlist isn’t working.
Madeon always works.
We pull away faster from station. Buildings start to move quickly by this window, we pull from London to it’s boroughs. I’m entranced. Architecture, train tracks, mixed with the fluidity of our speed makes for a rhythm that matches this song. Looking through the train window, the city is singing to me. Its’ hum so seemingly natural; in beat with Madeon as if he timed this beat to match this view. The song mellows as we enter a tunnel. It builds through the darkness and the sun explodes into view as a crescendo. I watch the meadow, which the train is now rounding in an awe-inspiring moment. Long vocals puncture in a natural timing between train’s overhead line components. The Brilliant blue sky touches shades of green trees that fade into the grass of the field. The skyline of buildings far off, some familiar—the Gherkin—many not.
The music subsides and I’m left looking out the window with the feeling that nothing will ever be that perfect again. And as I wait for my next destination revelling in the magic I just witnessed, it makes me want to challenge everyone to find that song. The song that matches their city. To their hum.