At the Coldplay concert, everyone around me was falling in love. I was getting over my first heartbreak
I took a deep breath and started getting dressed for the concert. A color-blocked shirt, stacks of charm bracelets, and my embellished Speedcats were ready for whatever the day would bring. Among a sea of screaming fans, the show began. The lights shone dizzily as Martin sang one song after another and rainbow-colored confetti filled the air. All around me, couples were kissing through “candid” selfies and leaning on each other until their shoulders were tired. In another universe, I didn’t witness this alone either. R was with me, holding my hand. Exploding planets the size of houses were floating above us, and when Angel Moon, the fictional alien character featured on the tracks “Cry Cry Cry” and “Biutyful,” told us to put on our Moongoggles, I I suddenly realized how important Coldplay’s music was. meant to me. I barely registered the spectacle, lost in a reverie of what-ifs. With each song, I healed a wound I didn’t know was still open. I made a mental note to call R after the show was over.
