The music is alive, making the air quiver with bass beats and copper strings. It pulsates, like blood through a vein, in the space above you. You can feel that flow in your arms, a tingle that permeates your skin and slithers to your legs and toes. From the stage, the artists look down on the gathered crowd, smiling, engaged, commanding. There are hundreds of people there, standing shoulder to shoulder, connected in this experience of enjoyment. At your side, a woman mouths words along with the vocalist, staring up in admiration. Behind you, someone is playing air drums along to the beat of the current song, which you know very well. A song you enjoy.

Yet even here, with all these people, faced with something that makes you happy, you wonder where they are. Who they’re with. If they’re thinking of you. You can’t help but keep turning around to look for them in a crowd - a crowd you know they’d never be in, anyway. Your crowd.