The title of the song The Clatter of Hearts at Dusk, was taken from a short story written by Flux=Rad, a story which was inspired by the music of the at-the-time untitled track. Will it go round in circles? Yes.

"The Clatter of Hearts at Dusk" by Flux=Rad.

He and I met each afternoon, on the edge of an auburn neighborhood where the streets wind through identical houses to brightly painted dead-end fences. We were too young to appreciate the irony of an under-developed development, but we knew where to go when we didn’t want anyone to see us.

At dusk, we pushed our bicycles, those tiny little frames, to the top of the hill on the other side of the fence. Holding his hand up to his brow, he’d look at me and grin. “You’ll do it this time,” he’d promise.

But he promised me that every day at dusk, and I was starting to lose faith.

His dirty hands and tousled hair grazed my shoulders and neck every day at this time, for months. We had a routine: sit at the top of the steep hill on our bikes, and wait for the other to have the courage to fly down, trying not to crash. Sun at our backs, we’d stare each other down until one of us finally let go.

We were famous throughout the neighborhood for our scars.

On this day, this day that swept across the town with no weather and nothing but sunlight, I felt the lure of his promises and the anticipation of our enevitable collision warming me.

In the distance a dog barked at nothing, and here, he leaned towards me ever so slightly, always reminding me how close we were to the distance between us.

“Move over, we’ll crash for sure if you stay this close.”

I stradled my bike with confidence I conjured in a dream that came to me waking, waiting for his signal.

“Let’s go together this time,” he said. “Don’t touch the brakes, we’ll see who gets to the bottom first.”

He knew full well that making it to the bottom at all was a feat worth celebrating.

My heart clattered through my chest and into my throat. My legs were gone, but I willed them to the pedals. ‘Just let go,’ I told myself. ‘But hang on.’ Even at 12 I knew that holding on and letting go were the keys to survival, and I learned that from him, this boy that wanted me there with him for all his mishaps, all his disasters.

The sun took a welcomed turn and hid behind an oak tree’s shade. I could see his face clearly now, and for the first time, I could tell he was just as scared as I was. But he smiled, he always smiled, anxious for the hope of our success.

Hearts pounding, we mounted the vehicles of our demise. It was in this way that we were cruel friends, continuing the cycle of each other’s failures and longings, expecting our own defeat but dragging each other into it again, hoping for a different outcome. We were partners in it, that cruelty, ultimately because we knew that if we made it, we wanted each other to see it.

“Don’t watch me,” he urged. “Just hold on and look up, not down.”

I nodded and steadied myself. The sun was once again behind his head, and looking at him was painful and debilitating, but I did it anyway. I waited to see his Chucks push off the cement and quickly regain the steady solace of his pedal. And they did.

And I did the same, shoving myself off into what felt like a private piece of sky, immediately feeling my chest rise up in protest, slamming itself against the walls of my throat.

We’d made this descent dozens of times, but today the course was different, shimmering in the dusk, hot from the day’s sun, and the familiar but always terrifying rush of wind and hair and sweat took over me. I let my feet rest softly on my pedals for what seemed like only an instant, and I looked over at him, by my side. He was watching me, too, and he was smiling.

His lips were moving, he was yelling something, laughing. Our descent denied time, I watched his face stretch with happiness as the world moved around us, just the two of us floating through the air like abandoned kites. In that moment, there was no time, no gravity, nothing perfect in the world without us and our carefully orchestrated fall. Sky moved behind him, making room for all our power, the power we had in those few moments of flight. We were learning perfection. In what could have only been seconds later, I realized I had reached the bottom of this private road’s treacherous hill, and my bike slowly succumbed to the end of inertia. My body and mind were bewildered, and I let my bike collapse underneath me. Legs still unable to support me, I followed suit.

He came running to me that evening. He came running to me like a child, and he held my hands in his, saying, “I knew we’d do it, I knew it.” The sun throbbed behind his face, and his smile overpowered every thought in my mind. I let him squeeze my hand, hard, already forgetting what it was we were celebrating.

And all the collisions in the world wouldn’t make that moment any less beautiful.