I envy the music lovers hear. I see them walking hand in hand, standing close to each other in a queue at a theater or subway station, heads touching while they sit on a park bench, and I ache to hear the song that plays between them: The stirring chords of romance’s first bloom, the stately airs that whisper between a couple long in love. You can see it in the way they look at each other… you can almost hear it. Almost, but not quite, because the music belongs to them and all you can have of it is a vague echo that rises up from the bittersweet murmur and shuffle of your own memories.
Moonlight and Vines, by Charles de Lint. 1. I’m a firm believer in the flexibility of the short story. 2. It’s much darker than his other collections. I think there may even be some endings that aren’t saccharine and adorable. 3. Give me goblins in a city and I’m happy. But fairies living in abandoned cars at the dump? Love it.