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We move through the third and fourth tracks.
He catches things I don’t.
A bass line that’s fighting the vocal.
A beat that needs to drop half a second earlier.
A bridge that doesn’t need to exist.
A lyric that sounds good on paper but doesn’t belong in the song.
He doesn’t tell me what I want to hear.
He tells me what the song needs.
That’s why I’ve trusted him for years.
By the time we reach the fifth track, he’s quiet.
Too quiet.
I glance at the screen.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
He smiles.
“You’re back.”
I lean against the chair.
“What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
I don’t answer.
He studies me through the screen.
“You haven’t written like this in two years.”
“I know.”
“You’re not forcing anything.”
“No.”
“You’re actually enjoying yourself.”
I glance at the five finished tracks on my monitor.
A small smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
“Yeah.”
