Skylar Collins worked her ass off to get to where she is. So, becoming best friends with Niall Horan and Louis Tomlinson was just an extra added bonus.
Where friendship came easy with Niall and Louis, Skylar and Harry struggle to even talk to each...
I just remembered I have state testing tomorrow and I need to sleep but I can't stop writing I just read this like a month after I published this and I hate this chapter LMAO
I got an Uber to take me to the beach, wanting to get out of the studio as fast as possible. I wasn't uncomfortable in the studio, just felt cooped up. The driver didn't recognize me, so I had 30 minutes to feel completely normal. No paps, no fans, I was just a regular girl in an Uber, on her way to the beach. I didn't want to go to a tourist beach, even though it was late January, and anyone interested in doing any touristing was probably on a Christmas ski trip or something. I would go to my favorite secluded beach, hidden by some cliffs. One could never find it from the road, making a perfect place to hang out. Louis showed me this spot about a month ago.
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After the endlessly awkward Uber drive, I made the short walk to the sand and sat down on a rock near the water, putting one earbud in. I open up my notebook, regretting not bringing my guitar with me. Story of my life plays into my ears, making me think.
The story of my life
Trauma. Divorce. Angry people. Sad people.
"Stop writing what you think people want to hear and write what you want to sing and share."
Louis's advice echoes in my mind. Yes, that is exactly what I want to do, share my trauma with the world.
The waves crash into the beach. Maybe I don't have to write down lyrics, but thoughts.
Everything that happens, ever is because of change. People change. People's expectations change. Things change. Every wave that crashes on this beach causes a small subtle change. When people change, other people leave, and new people come. Divorce papers get signed, people move to tiny farm towns outside of Denver. People write songs, start businesses, make music. People sit on the beach and cry, thinking about their trauma.
When I was little, I loved the beach. We never lived near any beaches, but whenever the opportunity presented itself, I was in my suit, wading out to the waves. I take off my sandals and set them by the rock with my notebook. I step through the hot sand and into the water. It was always colder this time of year. It was clear, turquoise, and the sand was perfect and white. The sun shone down on me. It was 11:15. I had to be back at the studio by one, and it was about a 30 minute Uber drive back. I had time. As the waves smoothly wash over my feet, I think. Do I really want to think about trauma? In this perfect moment? No.
I push any thing from my past into the back of my head and think about my future instead. All my life, all I had done was think about the future, but now that I'm living the future I've been dreaming of, all I can think about is the past. Is this really what I want for my life? I go back to my rock. Just Like You by none other than Louis Tomlinson himself plays into my ear while I open up my notebook again, knowing exactly what needed to be written down.
