When Icarus Falls - Black Tree

I was trying to figure something out. See, I was trying to figure out how many songs I've listened to by now, and it's got to be, what, thousands? Tens of thousands? Maybe even hundreds of thousands? And I mean songs that I listened to either directly or inadvertently. Maybe it's a staggering number of songs, or then again it's actually not that big a number.
But it'd be pretty much impossible to say, right? So it stands to reason that the average person also listens to a bunch of songs in their lifetime. Some less, some more, but it all adds up.
And out of those many, many songs, how many, would you say, you could recall the exact first time you listened to it?
Well, I do have a few I can quite vividly recall that moment, and the odds are that some will end up here in some form or the other.

In 2009 I was living in London with my then girlfriend, and she was unhappy there. Unhappy with me, unhappy with life, generally quite unhappy. And so she did what people usually do when they feel unhappy, which is finding that which makes them happy. She packed her things and moved to Switzerland, and this began the long, slow crawl towards the end of our relationship some two years hence. But while that final moment still lingered in the horizon of our lives, there were still some moments of quiet reprieve, as well as some others filled with immeasurable sadness that no words could bridge.

I started visiting her in Geneva in the winter of 2009-2010 - it's hard to believe that it's over a decade now - and in my time there I grew quite fond of the city. It also helped that my closest friend lived (still lives) quite near there. I'd usually catch a flight from London to Geneva on a friday after work, spend the weekend there, and be back in London in either a very early flight in the wee hours of a monday morning, or a very late flight on Sunday.
This day in particular was quite cold - I remember being warm and cozy under the duvet, the warmth of her body still clinging to me, and the silent sigh of the snow flurries outside. She was up already, and she'd turned on her computer to check if there was something we could do in the city later on. There was the suggestion of maybe going to a concert, but I didn't know any of the bands. Maybe she googled them, maybe it was embedded on the website itself, I don't really know, but music started playing.
Half asleep, I listened to some very quiet notes being played. Softly, softly, a voice sang.
I couldn't yet escape the temptation of that warmth, so I just stayed there in bed, eyes half open, almost drifting in and out of sleep, taking in that beautiful sight of her, glorious in that white wintry morning, and the song now becoming more urgent, more desperate, a cry, a longing, howling, howling in time with the falling snow.

I got up and joined her there where she stood, hunched over the screen, and I gave her a gentle, loving kiss in her lips.
Outside, the snow fell in tiny specks of white. I moved closer to the window, and looked out.
I prayed that we could somehow make it work, a prayer set against the dirge that encircled us.