𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 ~ 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

꧁༺𝐬𝐲𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐧𝐨.𝟏༻꧂

I lie down in my bed facing the ceiling. I was thinking about them again and for some reason, I couldn't stop. They were always on my mind. There were too many thoughts, so I grabbed some paints and went to my canvas to release at least a few of them.  I made sure to get my picture of them from my dresser to use a reference. I sketched a light outline with a pencil and began to paint. I start with the base, then the shadows, and finally the highlights. What I love about them the most is their eyes, the window to the soul. I take great care painting the eyes. Every time they look at me, I fill up with butterflies. Sometimes I wonder what they think about me - if they even think of me at all. 

Once I finished my painting, I found that my head was still filled with them. I grabbed my notebook and a ballpoint pen and began to brainstorm. I needed to find the right words, the right symbolism, the right comparisons, the right everything. I want my poem to clearly reflect my exact feelings for them and my writer's block isn't helping. My writing was interrupted by knocking from my door. 

"Syd?" I heard a familiar voice call. 

"Coming!" I ran to the door to answer it.

"Did you forget I was driving you today?"

"I told you that I could drive myself."

"Don't you want to see my new car?" Ever since Arnold got a new car, he's been offering rides to nearly all his friends. It's only been a week and he already gave a ride to the entirety of Pink Floyd, including me, twice.

"You've shown me your car already, it's nice."

"I know, but I've got new rims that you haven't seen yet," He grinned. 

I didn't want to be rude and decline his offer since he was already here, so I grabbed my guitar case and notebook. During our rehearsal, I couldn't keep my head straight. They were still on my mind. As the guys left the room for lunch break, I remained backstage and stared at the unfinished sappy little love poem I wrote. From the corner of my eye, I saw Roger get his wallet from his coat.

"Aren't you coming to get lunch?" He asked.

"Yeah, I was just a bit preoccupied, sorry."

He walked over to me. "Looking over one of your songs?" 

"It's not really a song yet," I responded still looking down at the paper.

"Poem?"

"Not really, I think it's somewhere between a song and a poem."

Without warning, Roger took the notebook out of my hands and read it for himself. 

"Hey, I didn't say you could read it!"

He ignored me and continued to read anyway. "Woah, this is actually amazing. . ." Roger handed me back my notebook. "When we get back from lunch, we should put some music to it."

I got up and began to walk with him. "You don't think it needs to be edited more?"

"A little, but it's really good! Is it supposed to be a love song?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Oooh," He exaggerated. "I know them, don't I?"