I study the paper, marked with scars where my pencil pressed too hard and smudges from the eraser. It mirrors my heart and my life, perfectly imperfect for the words it now holds.
Craving to hear it whole, I finish my wine, close my eyes, and strum the guitar. My voice weaves in and out, stitching lyrics and chords into something real.
I'm broken and empty
Dazed and confused
Left barely breathing
With a heart that's been abused
Your mouth whispered lies
That I was desperate to believe
Your touch told me a story full of barbs dipped in venom
A villainous fairytale that deceived my eyes.
You were my heart's song
The other piece of my soul
So, why couldn't I be your one and only
And not your just because
I keep my eyes closed until the last notes dissolve, then gaze out the window at the dying light.
The emptiness still claws at my chest. All this has done is let me bleed out some of the poison, so it no longer eats away at me from the inside.
They say the best songs are born from heartache. If that’s true, I must have a hundred hits waiting in my veins. The real challenge is mustering the courage to face the pain long enough to write it down.
What baffles me is that, even with pain pulsing like a heartbeat in my chest, I feel utterly hollow. If someone split me open, they’d find nothing left inside.
My stomach growls, pulling me back to reality. I set the guitar on its stand, scoop up my notebook to tidy the lyrics, and wonder if I should let this song go out into the world.
Is this a song I’m ready to share? Am I willing to let the world see the pieces of me hidden inside these lines?
I’ll ask Everleigh for her thoughts. Since the kitchen is empty, maybe she’ll want to grab a bite with me while we talk it over.
I drop my empty wine glass in the sink, toss the bottle in the trash, and set my notebook on the counter. I grab my phone, fire off a quick text to Everleigh, and pull on some clothes.
ME
Want to go grab some food? Got a song to go over with you.
EVIE
Woman! That's like asking me if I want to breathe! The answer is always an empathetic yes to getting food. Food is literally life.
I roll my eyes at her reply, fingers tapping out a response before I toss my phone onto the bed and get dressed.
ME
You're a dork.
My phone goes off with her reply, but I don't bother with it until I pull the shirt over my head and swap out my leggings for a pair of the jeans that hug my hips.
