Adream starring both me and you,
Tosaveall ofmy pain for another day.
Butmy love, you didn’t say goodbye,
Andnow, I’m left to wonder why,
Andhow it is I’m supposed to let you go.
I’mcapable of many things,
Oftea parties, heroic kings,
Butleaving you behind, I just don’t know …
Butmaybe when the sleep gets easier.
Maybewhen I can say your name,
Withoutfeeling the tears.
Maybewhen my heart can stand the pain.
Maybewhen I convince myself,
You’renot coming home again.
Maybethen, maybe then,
Maybethen …
I’llleave.
My voice trailed,strung along by notes of melancholy. It was only when I touched the last key,hitting the last chord, that I realized Devin and Sebastian hadn’t come in likethey said they would. I looked to them, saw the emotions they plainly displayedin their eyes and their parted lips.
“Guys?” I managed tosay, despite my own emotions wringing my heart like it was a towel to be usedand discarded.
Devin pulled in abreath, laying his arms over his guitar. “Fuck, man,” he muttered, wiping ahand over his face. “Sorry. I got caught up in the lyrics.”
“Same,” Sebastiansympathized, his voice rough. He turned to me with a somber sincerity brewingdeep in his dark eyes. “It helps you?”
“What?” I asked,shifting on the bench.
“Music, ithelps?‘Causeyour lyrics arechanging, like you’re progressing. That first song, it was about always beingthere or whatever, and this one …” He shrugged, doubting his own ability tointerpret the basic lyrical meaning behind the song before saying, “It’s aboutnot knowing how to let go, almost like you want to and don’t know where tostart.”
I hesitated, thennodded. “It, uh … it helps me process things, I guess.”
Greyson sat in thecorner, listening intently, and I noticed the sadness in his young eyes. Heheld a pain in there, a pain too old for a kid that young to be keeping. Tearsbrimmed in his eyes, and clearing his throat, he stood up abruptly. Sebastianasked if he was okay, and Greyson responded with a jerky nod and a request fora couple of minutes alone.
When the garage doorclosed, Sebastian turned to me.
“His mom died,” heexplained, as though knowing I’d been wondering.
I cocked my head,studying him with an immediate need to connect. “You didn’t tell me your—”
Shaking his head, hestopped me. “His mom and I were never together,” he told me, and I immediatelycaught his drift. “But she died about a year and a half ago. It hits himsometimes, usually out of nowhere.”
“Yeah. I can definitelyunderstand that,” I muttered, dropping my gaze to the therapeutic keys beneathmy fingers.
