Love in the days of Spotify

I was one of the witnesses of that wedding, and I remember perfectly how at the end of the ceremony the priest approached my friend and told her behind the back of the groom and the baby Jesus: “Share everything with your partner: the mortgage, the Filmin accounts and HBO, the passion for Atlético de Madrid, your friends, even the Instagram account if you are such firecrackers.

But never share Spotify, because if it goes wrong, there is no God to fix it. "

My friend heard it but didn't hear it, of course, like mass. I was too in love to listen. And when her husband offered to share the Spotify premium, she did not hesitate for a moment. They made lists, shared songs and, over the years, created a soundtrack to suit them. Eclectic, crazy and at times intense. In the mornings, working, they fought for control. If he came in and saw that she had it, he would put a song on it and leave; her, the same. It was a way of knocking on the door to say you were there. Sometimes he stayed inside to see what she was putting in his office and guess what mood she was running with, and she did the same: if he listened to classical music, he would have it turned down while he concentrated on his work; if he listened to Spanish pop, he was singing and dancing alone in the living room;if he listened to alternative groups, it was because there were visitors at home and he tried to understand them without understanding shit.

They kept a list of songs, and in the list they kept a song:

, from Calamaro, their song, the song that sounded at the wedding dance and the song that bore her name. Only when they separated, after ten years, did he listen to what the priest told him. There was no problem with anything except music. How to give up your history when you need it most? And even worse, how do you let your ex see what you hear after the breakup? They continued to love each other, although in the irremediable way in which two people who had been in love and are no longer loved each other. And they both knew that the moment he removed her from Spotify it would all be over, they would end up blowing out the last candle.

They kept playing songs from time to time when they were nostalgic or funny. The ones they shared together at concerts, the ones they listened to on their car trips, the ones they played in the living room when they came home to party and opened the last beers. Until she started dating a boy for several weeks, and one night she went to bed with him. He had background music, he told me he doesn't even remember which one. "I'll tell you all this and you put literature on it," he told me this Christmas at home.

It happened that when he was in the act with his lover, Spotify changed hands and the music that he was playing 600 kilometers from her began to play.

The one that sounded at the wedding, the one that sounded at home when they cooked together, the songs from

of Camarón's time that she loved and he not so much, and when she began to reach orgasm he called her

and then

again .

, and once again, and he supposed it missing her ("my life, we went to fly with only a parachute"), and he could not take it anymore while he thought that it had been the most absurd and fantastic trio he had done in his life, and dead of pleasure and pain, she asked him, the next day, to remove her from the application.

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