It’s the only thing that makes any sense.
I can’t eat.Can’t sleep.Can’t do anything but think about Adrianna and the way she felt in my arms.The way she fell apart.The way she tasted.
I refuse to believe her icing me out is permanent—I mean fuck, if I thought that I might as well just slit my own goddamn throat.
The truth is, I can’t live without her.
She is everything to me, and if she won’t let me touch her, then working, writing, playing this guitar?Well, it’s the next best thing.
Because ultimately, it’s all forher.
I strum the last chord and let it ring, vibrating through the studio air like it’s alive—like I’m alive again.
Like I’m bursting at the seams with emotion and this obsessive need to show her, tell her how I feel.
“Hold on,” I tell Trish as I adjust the mic and hit SAVE three damn times.
The last thing I need is this getting lost in the ether because my computer decides to throw a tantrum.
When I turn back to the video call, Trish is frozen.
Not literally—just stunned.
Her wife leans in over her shoulder, eyes wide, mouth parted.
Finally, Trish exhales the softest, deadliest whisper.
“Holy fuck, Nate.”
A grin splits across my face before I can stop it.
Because I did it.
After years of half-assed songs and record-label bullshit and recycled riffs that never meant anything—I finally wrote something real again.
I finally fixed the broken chords inside me.
Actually—she did.
Adrianna.My Sparky.
My wife.
My heartbeat.
This song is my tribute to her.
Every line.
Every breath.
Every fucking beat.
“I mean, Nate, that’s—well, what about lyrics?”
I nod and glance at the notebook propped up on my desk and read from it.
“I can’t get enough of you.Don’t leave me in the dark.I don’t want to be alone anymore, baby.You’re the spark.”
