Me:Help.
It’s not too late, only a quarter past ten. We took the night off from band practice because Zach’s daughter had a volleyball game and a subsequent afterparty.
I think we all needed it. A break.
My pulse hitches when his three little bubbles dance to life.
Chase:Let me guess, you’re either stuck on a bridge lyric or three seconds away from setting your notebook on fire.
My lips curve up.
The candle flame dances with temptation.
Me:Ha ha. And yes.
Chase:Show me what you’ve got so far.
I scrunch my nose, deciding the first two lines might work.
Send.
Me:“Maybe we were born to drift, lost in spaces we can’t name”
Me:That was attempt #8247 and I still can’t get the last two lines to stick.
Embers flush orange and crimson as I take another puff from the cigarette and wait.
Chase:Ok, well the song is about a love that was once strong starting to fade, leaving the person empty and clinging to memory. Lots of metaphors for light/fire burning out.
I suck my lip between my teeth and make a hissing sound.
Me:Correct.
I want to add that it’s not personal or based on experience, but let it go.
Not necessary.
My condition for adding Chase’s number back into my phone was that all texts would remain strictly business. Also, avoidance makes it kind of hard to communicate with your vocalist.
Chase:So you can bring that back in somehow. Goodbye = the lost spark.
Tapping the phone against my knee, I give my brain a moment to process.
Me:“Not every goodbye is hollow…?”
Me:One too many syllables, I think.
A swoosh.
Then another.
Chase:Hmm
Chase:How about: “Not every loss is final”
A lightbulb goes off.
I chew on the end of my pen and shoot back the finishing line.
