Someone, call for help — I'm listening to a song that reminds me of a person I used to know.

My good sense tells me to scroll past the song in my iPod. Little guardian angels hovering around my head pull my hair and kick me in the temples when they see me scrolling back, highlighting it and pressing the dreaded “play” button.

And, like always, I ignore them. Self-inflicted torture mission successful.

What can I say? The song is following me around. It is on MySpace. It is on my neighbor's stereo. It is a little person pacing back and forth in my head holding a protest sign that says, “Remember.”

What is it about a three-minute pop song that can make our temperatures rise and our hearts thump in our chests like wild jackrabbits?

Music affects me the way illegal substances affect others. When I'm first falling in love, every song lifts my spirits, a cosmic symphony of good feeling. And when I'm getting over a break-up, most FM radio stations and jukeboxes chock full of Patsy Cline songs become my worst enemies.

(Anything by The Cure is especially dangerous and should be listened to with extreme caution.)

The bad thing about songs is that they're the equivalent of national parks and strip malls: Everybody can claim a piece of them.

So while you can't imagine anyone else has ever cried or loved the way you have to that one special ditty, guess what? They have, and they will again.

The same song that means so much to you potentially means the same thing to one of your ex's former love interests. I know, I know. What a horrible thought.

But that's the thing about music and relationships: They can make you feel special, like you are the only person who has ever experienced this kind of intimacy or beauty.

I remember an old episode of “Seinfeld” in which one of the character's boyfriends immediately freezes and dreamily stares off into space every time he hears the song, “Desperado.”

It was so funny because it's true. Sometimes it's all about you and the music and whatever connection you've made to the combination of notes and layers of instruments packed into a song.

And who wants to lose that feeling of giddiness — about our music or our old relationships — though it can mean putting up with the occasional crying or nausea fit when the wrong song plays on the radio?

So you just keep listening, desperados. One day, we'll come to our senses.