I’m listening to Michael Bublé tunes as I write. It never fails to blow my mind how music can change my mood, take me back, remind me of things I thought I’d forgotten. People, places, lost dreams, old love . . .

Inevitably, music will also remind me of something or someone I’d like to forget. Maybe it’s that one person . . . the one that with one kiss I felt the heavens sigh. The one that made me feel like I could hang a star on the bleakest night. Where did those feelings go? Were they meant to last?

I used to think so. But many songs later, I’m a little less innocent and a lot wiser. I’ve realized that youth’s romantic interludes, like the ghosts of Christmas past, had a part to play but were never meant for the second act. Some love is permanent, some fleeting.

I’ve seen love range from comfortable friendships to crazy entanglements. The latter is the type that keeps us chained to emotions, floating above the real world, and jumping through hoops to make it last. Exhausting. In my book, true love eventually returns us to the real world. It frees us to think and create, to do whatever it is we do best. It allows us to hold other passions to our heart. Enduring love encourages us to not only love God, and to love others, but to love them better.

I don’t know about you, but music transports me. As I sit at my computer, Michael is singing a vintage tune by the Bee Gees, “Baby, you don’t know what it’s like, to love somebody, to love somebody, the way I love you . . .” Yep. I’m on the magical mystery tour of time. It’s taking me back to the cobblestoned streets of memory lane to light the lanterns once again. But when the song is over, it’s time to move on. A new song plays. It always does.

Some people were never meant to be more than just old tunes. Humphrey Bogart’s famous words in Casablanca—”Play it again, Sam,” really brings it home for me. Bogart was stuck in a song that belonged to someone else.

Thank you, Michael Bublé, for reminding me of the songs that were meant to last and the ones that weren’t.