Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
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Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
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Noel
Singing on stage creates an illusion. At pubs, there are plenty of other things for people to do: play pool, darts, eat food, drink, or mingle with their friends around the bar area. Although I can feel the eyes of people on me while I perform, I feel alone on stage. As if people couldn't care less about my music and voice, and more about the plate of nachos coating their fingers in grease.
It sounds stupid, but imagining the ignorance of others contributes to my ability to focus on my music, and not the listening and watching crowd. It's one of my the many reasons I rarely play in front of Kinsley. When she's alone, her gaze is piercing. Having her attention focused on me always makes me trip over my words or the functioning of my fingers. My heart rate will increase, too.
I'm not saying I don't enjoy playing in front of her. She's my girlfriend, and I love doing things that make her smile. Although she's heard a few of my self-written songs, there are some I have kept hidden from her and the public. They're ones that sit too close to my heart. Too close to the accident that brought Kinsley and me together.
Writing songs has been therapeutic for me. It's like writing a melodic journal. I pour my feelings onto paper, constructing them into lyrics that coincide with the strings of my guitar. Lots of my songs have stemmed from my experiences, following themes like hope, healing, love, courage, and strength. All the positives I've gained from shitty experiences and help from my family and friends and counselling. Because of these factors, I've become a better person. One who can discuss the past without deflecting. I refuse to run from the past.
Yet there is a part of me that fears sharing a particular song with Kinsley. It's still a work in progress. Pieces of the lyrics don't quite flow the way I want them to. Some metaphors could be improved. And although the song encompasses the overall essence of how Kinsley and I have healed, I feel like it's a heavy song. I don't want it to overwhelm her. But even with all these imperfections, whenever I go back to edit the song, I find myself stumped. It's as if my brain can't develop new ideas when I read through it. When I strum the tune on my guitar.
That's why I'm playing the song for Kinsley tonight. I want her name as co-writer if I record the song. It doesn't feel right not having her voice in this song. Before we healed together, we healed as individuals. Her healing is just as valuable as mine. It deserves to be in the song. Only if she wants to be heard, that is. With my music gaining traction across Canada, people recognize me more. It's getting harder for us to go out for dinner in Calgary. Having her name on the song could add to the hype.
Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I grab the guitar case and shoulder my way through the door. Tonight, Kinsley and I are camping on the far side of the property. The tent and other necessities have been packed into the back of my truck already. Kinsley's probably already sitting in the passenger's seat, too. She was up at the crack of dawn, chattering about our upcoming date-slash-camping trip. By noon, the cooler was packed and the water bottle was full. She even made a portable pitcher of mocktail margaritas.
