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Music carries the magic of bringing you back to a place in time. Most of my memories come with a soundtrack. When I moved out of my parents’ house at 18, the first things I moved were my CD player and Amy Winehouse’s album Frank. She serenaded my student life.

Frank was there when I fell in and out of love. When I dozed off after early morning arrivals in my room. Every night was a party. Except for the hours right before exams, when Frank would get me through attempts of learning entire books by heart. And it worked. I passed all exams, because of Frank. So I kept playing the album. My musical talisman.

Travels happened and I didn’t need Frank anymore to get me through exams and heartache. CD’s ended up in moving boxes. New talismans were digital or vinyl. Until last week, when Frank came back into my life. After a night of wild dancing, a midweek celebration and waking up in a new bed, I shared a headache with friends at work.

Feeling mellow after one hour of sleep and memories of last night filling my head with glitter, I took off my shoes and walked to the coffee machine. A colleague put on Amy’s Frank and I melted in my chair. Closing my eyes, embracing my cup of coffee, thinking not that many things have changed after all.

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