The Only Living Boy in New York

TWENTY-FIVE

Van

It'd been weeks since I determined my feelings for Taylor. I still hadn't spoken the way I felt about her out loud, and for the sake of fairness, neither had she, but I'd written four songs and they all spelled it out pretty simply. Anyone who read them would see it. But no one was reading them yet, it was just me and my words, and I couldn't get my words out fast enough these days.

But the songs weren't all about Taylor.

There was more there.

Under the surface of it all, there was a heavy indication of the person I was, the demons I faced, and the things I'd done. Since Benji's visit, I'd been plagued by dreams about Bob and Bondy, and I wasn't sleeping again. Even the sleeping pills and prescribed anxiety medication weren't keeping me at peace. When Taylor was around, it was easy to get lost in her and I'd nod off wrapped around her. I'd come to in the middle of the night and nuzzle her gently, and she'd attack me with needy hands. We couldn't get enough of each other and in those moments, I didn't leave the bedroom. But on nights she stayed at hers, and nights where sleep wouldn't find me, or I'd wake from a dream and be wrecked with tremors, I'd stay up until dawn writing everything down. And I meant everything.

Reading back my lyrics usually sent me into a deep hole of concern. On several occasions, I wrote Johnny's name into a song. I fought myself on it at first, and then realized it didn't sound right without it. So I left it there, built an entire chorus around it, and unfortunately, liked it too much to toss it to the side. I didn't want to tell Benji about that one, but he knew I was writing religiously, penning my thoughts like a prisoner in a cell with nothing else to do, and when Taylor was at work, I didn't really have anything else to do.

The lyrics were pleas and prayers toward a time that no longer existed, and a time I knew I wouldn't get back. They were my unspoken apologies to a brother I'd never see again. My remorse for the moments when I was the villain, and I was the villain often. I thought I'd feel worse if I wrote about it, but the opposite happened. I somehow felt...relief. It was almost like writing about the moments now, gave me a peace that before never existed.

I still wished that I could share the words with the guys, but those moments in time were long gone. I'd never grace a stage with the three of them again. I might with Benji, but the armada that we were wouldn't take up space in a festival lineup or on a headlining tour of the states again. Those days were gone, and a version of me was too.

I can't say I missed it.

Now, Taylor took up the space that touring and my old lifestyle used to hold. I would have never been able to have a relationship with her, or anyone really, if I was still touring like I used to be. In those days, the label kept my feet to the fire, and in turn, I kept everyone else's that way. I traded an addiction for another, filling myself full of thoughts if Taylor instead of drugs or alcohol. I wasn't a patient person and I was never good at being alone. I always needed something else to keep me entertained and keep me feeling alive. Taylor was that thing for me now, and I didn't know if it was a good thing to feel so strongly about her, but I knew I wasn't going to stop.

She'd be back in a few hours, her work day was almost coming to a close as I was sorting through the lyrics of the song about Johnny. It didn't hurt as much to read his name, or even think it. And I was getting better at singing it without feeling the sting of the past creep up behind me.

I plucked a few strings on the guitar and fell into a slow pace of chords that weren't my usual go-tos, but these days, I wasn't myself. The song wasn't entirely laid back in tempo, but it wasn't a banger either. It was a slow moving fade into an apology with an alternative undertone that carried a beat. It was new, it was different, and it was mine.