The Singer and the Song

The room was filled with a fuzzy blue light, and the music seemed to be coming not from the stage where the singer danced, but from the walls, the lights, the other people and even me. The song was light like helium, bouncy, and happy, and the words seemed like they were about me. I was pretty sure I’d heard the woman sing my name more than once.

“I wonder if she’s reading my thoughts / I wonder is she singing my mind?”, she cooed, right after I’d thought it, so that seemed to answer that.

“Oh yes, she’s singing them, no / She’s singing them now, no no / That answers that / That answers that.”

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