And I know that you feel it too
When my skin turns into glue
You will know that it's warm inside
And you'll come run to me, in the cold, cold night

As the song ends, the record, like the thoughts in my head, continues to go around, crackling a quiet song of static noise. I consider reaching for the needle and setting it back at the start, but it is indeed a cold, cold night and I fear the bite that the air would bring if I were to reach out from underneath my covers. So instead I grip the woolen blankets and pull them up to my chin, letting the record turn, the speaker buzzing and humming, no longer sure what to do with itself.
I find myself in the same position often, laying here, my thoughts going around, nothing but empty static, no direction, and the beautiful melodies that once occupied my mind, silenced, with no sign of return until I meet someone willing to reset the needle.
How long it has been. I ran out of songs years ago, the music died and the nights spent dancing and drinking in the company of another died with it.
I consider again, setting the needle, or if I'm going to go to the effort to face the cold, maybe flipping the record and playing the other side a few times over. It'd be nice to have a B-Side when I get sick of my thoughts, just to flip it all over and feel something different. A whole new jam. To have a whole track list of songs written just to be alone with. But instead I'm stuck with my A-Side, which has been nothing but come back to me for too long.
I let out a heavy sigh and slowly reach my arm out from underneath the warmth of my blankets, the night air pulls all of my hairs on end as I stretch out to place the needle back at the start. The stereo lets out a harsh and rejecting screech that sends me bolt up right, my blankets fallen down, the cold wrapping itself around me fully, like it has been waiting to all night and I stare down at the new groove that I've just carved across the face of the record. The music picks up from half way through a track as I sit, watching the large gouge circle lazily around the record.

Well I don't know what to do with myself
Just don't know what to do with myself
Planning everything for two
Doing everything with you
And now that we're through
I just don't know what to do, -n't know what to do, -n't know what to do, -n't know what to do, -n't know what to do.

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