Singin', "This'll be the day that I die"

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died

The thing about old songs. I remember reading this in an article from Voices by a certain Ms Sanghani I absolutely worshipped, for the way she wrote. I remember quoting this in so many +2 essays.

Those were the days when fishing over Poet's Corner of Voices on Thursdays to find my name, was the highlight of the week. Those were the days when being different felt nice. Those were the days when you different, didn't cost us, years.

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died

The thing about old songs. They can walk through your fairy lights, on a Thursday night, a decade and more later, and still help you write vague. How I hate winters for setting in unnecessary gloom.

Also, this one's for showing off memories!

https://www.linkedin.com/posts/pankaj-rai-he-him-his-b3923a_a-bright-face-looked-out-of-our-screens-activity-6744133887728996352-9ktB