Canyon Moon | H.S.

Opening Doors (57)

"Nat?" Harry calls from the office. I get up off the sofa and go to join him.

"Yeah, bub?"

He's sitting with a guitar on his knee staring at my notebook in front of him, a pencil gripped in his teeth. He looks up at me, hair falling over his eyes, the epitome of beautiful musician. I have to take in a huge breath as I look at him, almost winded by how much I love him.

"You need a haircut." I say playfully, pushing his hair out his face.

"Will you write me a song?" He says, taking the pencil out his mouth, and I stop in my tracks.

"What?" I ask, shocked.

"I've been staring at this letter you wrote me for hours, and I know there's something amazing in there, but my brain's not working." He looks completely fed up, the pencil now held between his fidgeting fingers, his brow furrowed almost angrily.

"And you think I'll be able to do any better?" I ask, raising my eyebrows and running my thumb between his eyebrows.

"You've already written the words." He says, his eyes fluttering closed as he hands me the notebook.

My stomach turns a bit as I take it, but I mentally tell myself off for having a physical reaction to an inanimate object. I'm way past that time in my life. I pull up another chair and sit opposite him.

You're my sun, Harry. My beautiful, golden man.

My own words catch my eye, and I smile to myself thinking about how many times I called him that, both out loud and in my head.

'Song writing', if I'd even qualify it as that, is still pretty weird to me. Everyone does it at some point in their life, making up little songs about rubbish, even if they're not very complicated or even very good, and it just feels like I'm doing that whenever I try to write a song. I feel a bit foolish doing it, and right now, having to try and write something in front of another person, I feel quite nervous.

It's just Harry though, and I know he'd never laugh at me, even if it was really awful.

I clear my throat, deciding to humour him.

"Golden, golden, golden as I open my eyes." 

It's strange to sing without any music. My words are slow and soft, almost like I'm feeling them out, treading tentatively.

"Hold it, focus, hoping, take me back to the light."

I would focus on nothing for days when I wrote this letter, my head constantly occupied with what ifs and what might have been. Desperately wishing I could go back in time.

I never stopped to realise how much brighter my life was with you in it. I read, swallowing thickly.

"I know you were way too bright for me" 

My voice falters slightly as I think about the horrible, sickly doubts that worm their way into my head every now and again, telling me I'm not good enough for Harry.

And now I'm broken.

"I'm hopeless, broken."

I'll wait until my sun goes out.

"So you wait for me in the sky. Brown my skin just right." I glance at Harry, and he's watching me intensely, completely still. "You're so golden."

"You're so golden." I repeat, not breaking eye contact.

"I'm stuck in my head and I know I'm just scared because hearts get broken."