Darling You've Got Your Demons | Kaylor

ten

Taylor

I couldn't help but feel guilty at the outcome of the evening. The object had been to push Karlie away, rather than pull her closer. I should've foreseen that outcome. No matter my intentions or common sense, my heart and feelings would always triumph.

I had contacted Tree, my publicist, and told her that I was dating Karlie. She seemed unfazed by the prospect of keeping it a secret, and had simply said, "I always love a challenge. Don't worry. It's extremely do-able." Somehow, this only added to my worries.

My head was full of worries and doubts, both rational and the opposite. The only way to tame them, I knew from experience, was to write. Write songs, write poetry, journal, anything. So I sprinted upstairs, grabbed my battered and dog-eared notebook and began a new entry.

Karlie

I stared at the blank page and chewed the end of my pen, trying to figure out something to write. Dr. Reynolds told me to try to write a journal entry every night before going to bed. She said it would relax me. So far, I was not feeling relaxed.

My thoughts drifted to Taylor. Words seemed to flow from her mouth like a river. She could write a song in thirty minutes, so why couldn't I write so much as a sentence?

I sighed angrily and slammed my pen and notebook down onto my bed. I ran my fingers through my hair, messing it up. I counted to 10. I rolled over onto my stomach. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I clicked on a playlist I'd made recently entitled "Calm."

Music filled the room. I began to breathe easier and I was able to confront the empty notebook again. Damn, I hated therapy, but the techniques Dr. Reynolds told me about actually helped.

The pen resumed its previous spot between my lips, but it didn't stay there for long. Dr. Reynolds's words floated through my mind: "You can write about anything. Your feelings, obsessions, what you did that day, etc. I think you'll soon find it to be a calming habit. It can be difficult, but I know from experience that it gets easier over time." The tip of my pen touched the paper, and I began to write about my night with Taylor. I didn't write much, but it did seem to put my jumbled thoughts to rest slightly.

Taylor

As I closed my journal, I tucked my hair behind my ears. My fingers and hands were slightly stained blue from my pen. I got underneath the covers and opened my laptop to check my email. I had several emails from my record label about future music all trying to convince me to write a few country songs. I sighed. My mind drifted back to the songs I had written recently. Particularly "Wildest Dreams." Even though I'd come out as pansexual like six years ago, my record label and management frowned upon my occasional usage of female pronouns in my songs.

That was bullshit, of course, but, with the changing of genres, it would make it even more difficult to get that song out there. I was so stressed and frustrated with them. It was my art, and it had made them millions already, so why couldn't they trust me? I shouldn't have to censor myself. And for the millionth time, I thought about creating my own record label. One that allowed artists to release music without losing a piece of themselves as well.

"Maybe someday, Taylor," I whispered to myself as I deleted the emails. I didn't want to deal with this today. Or at all. As I responded to the rest of my emails, Meredith padded into my room and jumped onto my bed. She curled up against my side, and I ran my fingers along her spine. The rhythmic motion of my petting her soft fur often rid my system of anxiety-filled thoughts.