Wildfire - H.S

23

It's good. Really fucking good.

Obviously it's Mitch and I'd expect nothing less than brilliance.

I may tease him a lot, but that's just the nature of our relationship.

He's good at what he does. Great actually. One of the best in the business and that's the exact reason I knew I needed him in my band the minute I heard the raw talent and passion he has for music.

And to think I only met him by chance.

It's not often you find someone you just click with, who slots into your life so perfectly, and who means more to you than you could ever realize.

He slowly finishes the piece and I feel as though I need to pick my jaw up off the floor and put my eyes back into their sockets.

I wonder how long he's been working on this.

"So what I'm hearing is you want a solo." I deadpan, acting as though I am not completely stunned by what he just showed me.

Rather than verbally replying his face falls into almost hurt before slowly raising his middle finger at me and that's when I allow the smile to break out across my face and I can see his face flash with relief.

"It's bloody fucking brilliant mate." I tell him, patting his shoulder.

"Good, I thought you had lost your touch then because that was a masterpiece and if you couldn't see that I would've been worried. Now all we need is some of your beautiful lyrics." Mitch responds in the most over exaggerated tone.

Right, my lyrics. That I don't have.

"Don't stress, just tell me what you've got so far. It doesn't need to be perfect, just something." Mitch pipes up again, clearly reading the anxious look written all across my face.

I step up from the sofa, walking around to my bag next to the front door and pulling out my journal, it's only a small leather-bound book. But it's perfect for noting down ideas when they strike.

Which recently has been happening a little more than usual.

A certain muse has entered my life.

The pages are very torn up and scruffy, which is also reflected by the outside of the journal, covered in ink stains and scratches. But it's one of my most prized possessions because of the fact I feel it a part of me.

An insight into my head.

Into my heart.

I learn over the back of the sofa, opening up the small yellow pages, flicking through until something jumps out at me.

"She lives in daydreams with me." I speak out, not even noticing I've said the words until they've left my lips.

"Hey, didn't I tell you to write that? This might as well be my song." Mitch asks, shooting his head up to stare at me and the book I'm reading from.

"This might as well be my song." I mimic back, before flicking through a few more pages to see if anything else jumps out at me.

"Sends his assistant for coffee in the afternoon. Around one thirty-two." I once again read the scribbled writing from my book and as soon as I do that's when I hear her.

My soulmate.

Singing in my head again.

It might just be the encouragement I need to write a song.

I take a slow walk around from behind the sofa to sit back down next to Mitch, picking a pen up as I do so I can write any notes, instinctively tapping it against the notebook to the same beat Mitch had just played.