I’d Die Without You (PM Dawn) - Day 41

There was a brief time when I lived in a room in Aurora’s uninsulated attic. The room was small and had pitched ceilings, but I was young and didn’t really need much. I had a bed, a chest of drawers, a barrister bookcase, and a few posters on the blank walls. There was a window that faced west and allowed me to look out at the green, across Rockaway and Corona Avenues. In spite of that, I don’t think I was ever more comfortable calling someplace my home than in that short spattering of time in 1992. At that point I had already been in and finished 3 relationships in a young gay man’s life, the third of which had been lingering and torturing me. My solace was that room. I’d Die Without You, by PM Dawn, takes me back to that room when I close my eyes. As one did in the days prior to the mp3, I’d recorded the song off the radio onto a cassette and would rewind it and replay it over and over, a running theme in my life of music. It’s not so much about lyrics, though they resonated for sure at the time, as it is about the tear drop shaped piano notes, and the dreamy voice of the lead singer as he apologizes while under water and drowning. Strange, I know, how I can find consolation in sad melodies and lyrics that bring me back to a small, cold, lonely room.