The music we carry with us

A little phrase followed me to the bakery this morning. I could remember its shape but neither its beginning nor the piece it belonged to. Each time I tried to catch it, it slipped away. Then it returned quite clearly while I was looking for my keys.

I used to find these incomplete memories irritating. Now I rather like their small interruptions. They make the music feel part of an ordinary day, alongside shopping bags and unanswered messages. I may remember the title later. For the moment, I am happy to have just this handful of notes.