Powerful, rough, and messy but somehow pleasant tones can be heard from them.
"And that was our last song, thank you for coming to see us tonight. Come join us again next time".
People were chanting "Encore, Encore, Encore" while the band exits the stage, wanting to hear their sound again as if it's the last time they'll ever hear it. But the band couldn't grant the crowd's request since they've ran out of time.
Silence.
The noisy chants and cheers stopped whilst the audience leave the area one by one.
"I should get going too"
I thought to myself looking at my watch as it read 10:30 pm. Pretty late for most but not for me now that my day is just starting.
I walked up to the nearby bus station so I could get a ride home. It was packed. People from the live house also went here to catch a ride, as well as a few people coming home from work. A common sight at this time on a Friday night. Not surprising.
I plugged in my headphones listening and reviewing the songs I recorded from the live band earlier. They're better than all of the previous ones I've listened to but not what I was looking for. A few minutes went by and there it is. A familiar place in which I pass by everyday. *beep* I pushed the button to signal the driver to stop as I prepare to get off the bus. In the end I got home safely.
I couldn't find the people I needed. Another day wasted, or so I thought. I began writing another composition that would soon touch the trash can if not played. I poured all my thoughts and emotions on this one.
Loneliness, sadness, and anger suddenly turned to emptiness.
Not good.
I reached out to my phone to take a break, I need to chill out or I'll burst again.
A notification. Someone reacted to my post, and an unfamiliar name at that. How rare. I checked to see who could it be, and to my surprise a talented individual appeared on my screen. I'm jealous of how they could play the guitar that good, so good it felt legendary. If only I could do it myself.
Then I realized.
This is it.
As if my hands moved on their own. My fingers won't stop. I messaged the person with all of my admiration, sent them my newly made piece, and asked to play it for me.
While patiently waiting a few minutes passed. No reply. Ticks from my clock could be mistaken as a metronome with how quiet it is.
Suddenly a chime from my phone echoed through the room. I quickly grabbed my phone and saw a notification from that person. They sent an audio file back.
Could this be it?
Inhale, exhale. I prepared myself for the worst and slowly pressed play.
My composition. It has come to life. I can feel all the emotions coming to me, all of them. The emotions I kept within a piece of paper. I'm glad.
I was so engrossed in listening that I didn't notice that something is dripping on my table. I touched my cheek, its wet.
Am I crying this whole time? I don't know and I don't care because finally.
Finally I found someone.
