Track 07

Chapter Six

Look at the birds. Hear how they sing. See how you smile. Your eyes like sunlight.

Argh!!! This sucks. You tear the paper. Why are you so bad at this?

Usually you don't have a problem finding the right words. But this time it's different. None of your words are as beautiful as the melody. It always outshines them. It's been a week and you've recorded 5 versions already. You really wanna do something with this melody. With this beautiful song. You did it with Track 02 and Track 03. But why is it so hard to find the right lyrics for Track 07?

No situation, no feeling, no words are pretty enough. None of them can capture what the song wants to say. Maybe it's because it's the last song on the CD. Who makes CDs anyways today? You can just give USB-Sticks or send the songs through a cloud.

This Jimin guy seems to be old fashioned. You really don't get him. All of his songs have these beautiful piano or guitar melodies. No vocals, no base. Just simple, beautiful melodies. Why would he go to a club owner to show them to him? They don't fit into any club.

Tae made it work apparently, but only for like one minute. Why would Jimin go to your boss with this kind of music? Actual music. Nothing short of amazing. Nothing that would be played in clubs in this town.

His songs are soft and sweet. They kinda fit to him. He seemed really soft and sweet. Like he could do no harm to anyone. Just like his songs. But that's wrong.

They harm you. They keep you up at night with their beautiful melodies. You lie in bed, try to think of lyrics, just so you can sing with these songs. Not that anybody would ever hear what you are singing, or even hear the recorded versions of your songs. They're just for you. No one else would get to hear them. So it shouldn't matter. But somehow it still does. It matters to you.

You walk to the kitchen, try to think about dinner tonight. You somehow have to keep yourself distracted from that problematic song. When suddenly the door rings. You're confused. Your roommate Olivia isn't home, which is odd, at this time during the day, but she should have her key with her. She never forgets it.

You press the button and hear the door clicking downstairs. In your sweatpants and with a shirt you spilled ramen on during lunch, you open the door. And in front of you stands a man, with black hair, dark eyes and the softest smile in the world.