She sings in my dreams

I'VE STOPPED listening to popular music after the 90's. During the summers of my childhood my cousins and I used to gather in front of the television to watch the weekly MTV countdown of the most popular songs rocking the world. From 2000 onwards, when I was a little more grown up, I found pop music distasteful, crass, overly sexualized, senseless, pointless, and noisy—and that was when I became disinterested. The generalization is unfair, as most generalizations are, for there were still songs worth listening to.

When I discovered Norah Jones a couple of weeks ago—yes, I'm that far behind—I was blown away. Her voice is calm, her melody enchanting. I could listen to her in the early morning, the best time for musical enjoyment, and I could have her serenade me even while I read. I joke around that I could marry her in a heartbeat.

I have most of her albums. My favorite song is still Don't Know Why—it is hauntingly beautiful. This is the story I've made up in my head, as songs are open to personal interpretation: a woman doesn't know why she's left him, the man of her dreams, but she does, running off to a far place, knowing she will regret her decision forever. I get the impression, though, that she knows her reasons—or she will know them eventually. A reasonable person doesn't just decide important matters in the dark.



She has been on my playlist for weeks now. I hear her in my dreams.