DAYLIGHT FADING

twenty one | i call it magic when i'm next to you

                       | twenty one: i call it magic when i'm next to you |

                                                              or

                                               | magic: coldplay |

When my alarm goes off, I blink open bleary eyes and sigh. Unfortunately, The Noise arrive at studios early in the morning, which may be half of their problems.

I keep my eyes on the floor as I get out of bed, trying to avoid that goddamn picture. It really is masochism on a whole new level.

Luckily, my chest of drawers and wardrobe face towards the picture, so I’ll get to have my back to it and my guitars are all hung up on a different wall.

I should take it down but there have been days in the past two weeks where the tightness of my throat as I look at it is the only reminder I have of the fact that I can feel anything.

I bypass all of the band t-shirts I own, deciding to dress in the style I think is my own. I pick out a slip dress in a soft, pale orange with lace edging at the bottom before finding some worn brown ankle boots.

To be honest, I look a little like a country star.

I finish up by applying some flicky eyeliner, almost grinning at my freckles in the mirror. The sun is out in full force and my freckles are almost as dark as two years ago, when I was constantly out in whatever sun was available in Eastfields.

I decide to have a cup of coffee just to attempt to wake me up before I make the trip down to the studio, which is thankfully a walkable distance. I don’t fancy taking a guitar on the Tube.

I sit in the living room and somewhere, I make the decision to smoke. I can’t do so in the kitchen because then I set the bloody fire alarm off but the living room is fair game.

It speaks volumes about my general health that I bought an ashtray for my living room before I bought a bed, or the fact that despite throwing away the stubbed out ends two days ago I already need to clean it out again.

I knew I was getting worse after Adam arrived in Eastfields as the cravings started up again. Even when I was Angel, with the exception of before shows, my cigarette intake wasn’t that bad and I never got the need for nicotine that crawls in me now.

It’s strange, how we both got addicted to things that take the world away. Perhaps we’re more similar than he’d like to admit, too busy with his quiet martyrdom to consider that maybe the rest of the world is not untouched.

I suppose it’s in his nature though. He did always like to promise the sky.

Unfortunately for him, I am no longer a wide-eyed seventeen year old who believes that the sky can be touched. We are of the earth and we will always be shackled here.

I shake my head at myself. I really must be getting worse if I’m starting to think like a goddamn philosopher. The thought makes me reach for another cigarette and I stop, momentarily, before I pluck it from the pack.

There’s no harm in nicotine for breakfast.

After I finish my second cigarette, I put my coffee mug back in the kitchen, deciding that I don’t need to eat. Instead, I go back to my bedroom and pick out the electric I want to use for the day.

Justin had told me that there would already be an acoustic in the studio but the choice of electric was mine.

Ideally, I’d love to be able to take more than one so that I could match the guitar to the sound required for a track but it’d be a waste of petrol to drive from my apartment to the studio and I try not to indulge in hedonism except, it seems, when it comes to cigarettes.