You Belong With Me

Ugh

The sun hung low in the sky as I stood on the practice field, my cleats digging into the grass. It was a good day for football—clear skies, a light breeze—but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn't shake the thought of Lana and her casual mention about looking for me on social media. There was something incredibly nice about knowing she thought of me, even in passing.

 I had always loved playing lacrosse, the rush of the game, the thrill of scoring. But when I overheard her talking about how football guys were her favorite, something clicked. I made the switch to football, and to my surprise, I found I was pretty good at it. The game became a way to chase a dream, but it also became a connection to her, a way to prove myself worthy of her attention.

 "Wes! Focus!" Coach's voice snapped me back to reality. I shook my head and got back into the drill, pushing thoughts of Lana aside for the moment. As the whistle blew and practice wrapped up, I felt a mix of anticipation and nerves about the next time I'd see her. There was a spark of hope that maybe this time, things could be different.

 I stepped into my penthouse suite, the exhaustion of the night out still clinging to me like a heavy coat. The music from the club echoed faintly in my ears, but the silence of my new home felt oddly comforting. I dropped my bag and collapsed onto the couch, my phone buzzing incessantly. I glanced at the screen: several texts awaited. One from my boyfriend, pestering me about my late night. A couple from my manager confirming an interview on a talk show—another obligation I wasn't sure I wanted. And then there was a message from my music director, asking about new music.

 "Ugh," I sighed, feeling the weight of expectations crash down on me. I needed an outlet, something to ground myself amidst the chaos. I wandered over to my piano, its keys waiting patiently. I sat down and let my fingers glide over the ivory, searching for a melody that felt right. As I played, thoughts of returning home filled my mind—of the memories that lingered, of the heartache and nostalgia intertwined. I began to write: 

There's something in the air tonight

As I walk these streets again

 Echoes of laughter, shadows of light

Remind me where I've been

And there's a boy who held my heart

In the silence of our youth

Now I stand here

 torn apart

 Wondering if he knows the truth.

 But as the verses flowed, doubt crept in. Was I really going to write a song about him? About our childhood and the ache of missed opportunities?

 "Forget it," I muttered to myself, frustration bubbling up. "I can't put out something like this." I pushed the keys down with a forceful bang, the sound resonating through the room. It felt too raw, too vulnerable. The fear of exposing my feelings overwhelmed me, and I slammed the lid shut on the piano, retreating into silence once more. I stared at the blank page before me, wishing for inspiration but feeling more lost than ever. Maybe I wasn't ready to confront those feelings, not yet. But the truth was, as much as I tried to deny it, Wes lingered in the corners of my mind, refusing to let go.