There is something beautifully broken about deja vu. I heard once that it is your mind telling you that you have been here, in this moment, and survived. That all will be well. But I suppose this wasn't entirely concrete deja vu. This was me rewriting memories. Three years ago, I sat in this exact theatre waiting for Ben Howard to sing to me. I waited for him to open up and bare his soul in a way that no musician ever had. This time, although still waiting for him, it was just night and day in my circumstance. Walking the long distance, was somewhat of a different cadence. Last time, I walked next to a man who broke me and tried to glue me back together with an emotionless dalliance and cacophonous pleasantries. This time I couldn't stop thinking of the man who gave nothing but euphoric words of forever. To be honest, I wasn't sure how Ben would speak to me this time around. Would it be a stroll down memory lane or would it be a whole new adventure full of passio