1. The soundtrack was this (in my own voice, though most of the lyrics forgotten to the extent that it was more a refrain of the first line, over and over):

The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the endless skies, my love
To the dark and the endless skies

And the first time ever I kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move in my hand
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command, my love

And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last ’til the end of time, my love
And it would last ’til the end of time, my love

The first time ever I saw your face
Your face
Your face
Your face

2. Unrelatedly (though only in the sense that everything is related), I think a burgeoning belief in reincarnation is my best defence against time-management-related anxiety. You can do anything but not everything, I remind myself now and again; I am interested these days in seeing that not as a challenge, but as a soothing balm; that it’s OK, that there are plenty of opportunities anyway (in other lives?); no, really, that it’s OK and powerful to pick and choose. There are certain affinities I have with certain parts of the world, experiences, senses of belonging or not, and other things, that make me wonder, sometimes. I used to be sceptical about this. Isn’t it romantic, as well? Love, that can pass through such fickle boundaries of lifetimes; seeing as it’s the ultimate, only actual thing anyway. There’s a green lawn outside, and nextdoor’s washing, and so many times I’ve been called an ‘old’ soul by healers or people who tell me things almost jumping back in astonishment saying what they’ve seen about/in my soul, and me just smiling sheepishly (buzzfeed quizzes are made of these; tick box questionnaires to see if your soul is ‘special’); I think I’ve been gathering lots of things and keep looking upwards as well as across and when I connect it’s with a certainty of desire (/begging) that I can be of use and service (otherwise what’s the point?). The story bubbling away in my laptop, a quarter-begun and haphazard in scale, left to simmer its flavours in its screen-sky pan until it knows more what it is, has a woman writing a letter to everyone on earth, and someone else recounting their beloved’s previous lives in an infinite love letter (all permutations of the same fundamental thing, as though knowledge is proof of devotion). I think we all have lessons to learn, that’s why we’re here, and that perhaps we do choose those lessons ourselves as well as the people who will be around us while we learn them. The ultimate responsibility, and taking of it; alarming, hideous, for some, but perhaps somewhere it all makes sense. We are extremely fortunate if we can identify the lessons and actually learn them; that’s when we might get out of the pan and become something.