Will We Talk?

44- Release

"Welcome to my studio or our new apartment." I welcomed Sam, fiddling with the keys in the door before inviting him in properly.

He stood in the same space for a while, looking it our soon to be living room. There was obviously something going on in that creative mind of his as he stared at my makeshift desk in front of the big window with a view of Tynemouth. Soon, he approached the desk, picking up the notebook I wrote my songs in- the songs I've wrote since I was a teen. Yeah. No. He's not allowed to read that.

"Ah ah, hands off. My eyes only. Sit." I demanded, pointing to the same settee that Rylee, Fran and Yvonne sat on a week ago.

"You singing me a song?" he asked with a smile on his face, leaning back into the leather seat.

"The song I've been waiting to sing to you since last year? Yeah." I scoffed sarcastically, his eyes consequently dropped to the floor in guilt. At least he knows he's done wrong.

"This is 'wish you were gay'." I introduced, before strumming the tune and singing the words alongside it.

Throughout my mini performance, he stared at me with a certain glimmer in his eye, foot tapping along to the tune. His love for music was something even I cherished. The way he reacted to me singing was heartwarming as he smiled the whole way through.

"That's pure mint that." he congratulated me, "The lyrics are beautiful. You're voice is outstanding. And might I say, your guitar teacher must be absolutely brilliant." he gushed.

"Aye. Distracting, but class." I chuckled.

I began to debate showing him the lines to 'Get You Down', and it must've been obvious I was deep in my thoughts.

"You alreet? You've gone proper white." he alerted me, guiding me to the sofa.

I was fine. Just at conflict with my brain, you know, an activity I constantly seem to be doing nowadays. The notebook that sat on the desk found its way into my hands and I opened it to the page, my eyes burning into the few lyrics I'd written down.

Scribed in my writing were the words:
'All of my anger, you take on the chin And it gets you down'
'I never fight back, just stand there humiliated'
'Just a pathetic boy'
'I catch myself in the mirror and I see how I get you down'
'Get you down'

No particular order, just scattered and uneven. Not perfect. Just like our relationship. The way it was written was like a metaphor for how I felt, a metaphor for the whole situation, for the song, for everything. My eyes glossed over with the thought of our love for each other breaking apart due to showing him this. The tears slowly fell, creating droplets of smudged ink on the page. That page was now a bit of me. It was the true symbol of the circumstance I find myself in.

"Can I look?" Sam queried as he took notice of the droplets rolling down my face.

I wiped my face dry with the cuffs of my jumper, "Sure."

I said it so quiet, I almost didn't hear myself, but that might just be because I was so caught up with my own thoughts. The silence was almost deafening as he read the very few lyrics on the page.

He began to sniff frequently, alerting me from my trance which signalled he was finished reading. I looked up to see him crying, when his eyes met mine, he outstretched his arm to curl around me. Snugly, I cuddled in to his chest as he cried into my hair. 6 months and I still hadn't seen him cry until this moment.

"I love you, you know." he croaked through sobs.

"I love you too." I responded, wiping the few stray tears that rolled down his face, "Don't know what else to write for it like, might have to leave it for a while like I did with 'wish you were gay'." I waffled.

"You're great. Is there anything you can't do?" he gawked, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes.

I smiled softly, "Tons."

"I don't believe you."

*****

That whole day was spent in that apartment, writing and coming up with some music. Sam had convinced me to post a video of me singing 'wish you were gay' on instagram- after all, I did have the following. I agreed but I wasn't going to post it until after my birthday incase people didn't like it and I was in a strop because they don't like it. Yes, I'm overdramatic, I know.

Although I didn't have the same passion as Sam for music, I understood why he loved it so much. You can get so many feelings off your chest by strumming a guitar, or playing something on the piano while you speak your mind in the background. There was something refreshing about working with Sam doing all of this music malarkey, its nice working with people you actually like. Obviously, I used to have Nic but when she left, I had no one to talk to, none of the others had good craic.

Now that I'd written the song, and began working with the little dancers, I was considering not actually reenrolling at uni. The pay was good, I was enjoying my work and it was nice watching the bairns grow up- me playing a part in that. Maybe if I started writing and producing music, I'd find myself doing that as a profession.