The Songwriter's Funeral Song

II. Sailing to Dry Waters

The Songwriter's Funeral Song
Sailing to Dry Waters

The hands that sounded like the pitter patting rain are soothing me, bathing me with a blending sadness and happiness which I cannot explain. Cheers are thunderclaps. The "I love you" rattles my heart. Every sound I hear means a lot. The stage, where I am standing right now is like the mountain top. I feel the cold night's air. But this warmth, the supporting cheers of everyone, is my cardigan.

Two weeks ago, I signed a contract from a production company. The song after release, "Living But Leaving," just hit the national top chart. It was a surprise for me. It's not a love song that everyone adores, it's not a rock song that'll shake you up, and it's not a typical song that everyone wants to listen to. It's a melancholic one.

The streamers were mostly young adults like me. It is empathy, I guess. Being a teen is the stage of growing up, and the stage of realizing life... and perhaps finding one's self.

Crying at night, thinking about life, and losing and missing someone were my motivation perhaps. Writing them as a song makes me feel lifted. I don't know how listeners liked my song. But what I heard was parents seem to hate it. I might become a bad influence... or I am now.

Things changed a little more. Since I have performed a mini concert near that arena, well, just outside, for my music promotion, I have given enough pay. Mugi is not homeless at all. She has that little apartment in which musicians stay as well. She welcomed me there openly. But when I have signed the contract, I have been handled by the production company. And Mugi... she's no longer with me. But we can still talk to each other, visit me in my new apartment, and even make her as the bassist in my mini concert, just as she requested.

Honestly, I did not expect changes like these. Performing in the street had given me a pint of happiness. It did also provide me the things that I need to survive. But these... how did I get here?

○●○●

"You don't have to let me stay here," I said as I entered Mugi's apartment. I like the place_ the space seems to fit four people, and the two double deck beds look quite comfy not like the bench I used to sleep on the street. As I've noticed, it's messy... just like a usual musician's room.

"No," she negated, "we have a deal. Remember?"

"I never agreed."

"But you're here."

"Well, err... you forced me!"

"I didn't." She crossed her arms and made an intimidating aura. "Look. I just want to help you."

"You didn't even know me."

"Who cares? Am I only existing to help those who I know?"

"Are you a heroine or something?"

"It's up to you." She grabbed my guitar and hung it in the nail behind the wooden door. "The restroom is on the ground floor. Make yourself at home."

"But...."

She widen her eyes to scare the hell out of me. I didn't make a sound. I just mimicked her.

"You're welcome," she said and made an exit.

"Thank you," I replied. I took a heavy breath, and observed the room. A navy blue electric guitar was displayed on the left wall. It matches the color of the concrete wall's latex paint. The ceiling is white as well as the floor, finished with ceramic tiles. It's such a weird style, but I'm starting to imagine the wall as the sea and the ceiling as the sky. And this floor, where I am standing at the moment, is the reflection of the element above.