DAYLIGHT FADING

seven | you were an island and i passed you by

With a heavy sigh, I go back to my junk cupboard and haul the huge print to my room, the difficulty being in its sheer size rather than its weight. After quite a bit of swearing and two stubbed toes, it is finally on the wall and I decide that I really must be a masochist.

The photo – that damn photo – was taken at some stupid beach party that I barely remember, but I do remember that moment. Chris had ran up with his camera to where I was stood with Adam, sipping on a cheap, horrible beer that I drank just because I fancied having alcohol and there wasn’t anything else and demanded a photo.

The sun was going down and I knew it was the last chance to have a decent photo before I started getting blinded by the flash of Chris’s camera so I agreed, Adam shrugging his consent. I tried to aim a genuine smile at the camera and waited for Chris to take the photo, when Adam just slung his arm over my shoulders and kissed the side of my head out of nowhere.

The photo is of the very moment, my eyes now looking down at the sand and a huge grin on my face with Adam’s lips pressed to my temple, his eyes mid-way through flickering shut, with the tiny gap between us blinding with the orange light of the sun.

I have to turn my face away, my heart clenching with the sudden rush of nostalgia. It always makes me wonder a thousand what ifs and if onlys. And now, because I’m stupid and too soft to take it down and burn it so I never have to feel like this again, I get to wake up and see the photo every single morning for the rest of my life.

When a song suddenly fills my mind, I know exactly what my next move is going to be. I can’t recreate the texture without recording multiple tracks, but I don’t particularly care. There’s one line that needs to be gotten out. I pick a guitar off the wall – a Dean Exotica that’s a gorgeous deep purple colour.

Plugging the guitar into my amp, specifically designed for acoustic guitars, and flicking it on, I drag a stand over with my foot and place my beautiful Exotica on it. I collect a microphone, another stand and a pop shield, putting them all together in front of my amp. I grab an XLR and plug the microphone into a little PA unit I bought what seems an age ago and route everything into another amp – smaller this time.

When I set the camera up right in front of my bed, I realise that the set up I’ve got is exactly like the one I used to use to record YouTube videos, except with better equipment. I double check the settings on my amp and my PA, having learnt with years of using the same equipment where each thing needs to be.

I flick the camera on and set it to record. I used to say something at the start of every recording, but whatever I say at the start is going to detract what I’m trying to say. Best to leave out anything that can be misinterpreted. People are going to have enough of a field day anyway.

I sit down on the amp before pulling my Exotica’s guitar strap over my head. My amp is set to a very clean sound and I pull a pick from where I’ve tucked it between the strings. I quickly mute the resulting noise before beginning an acoustic version of a song that I often wish I wasn’t able to sing like I mean it.

“A warning sign, I missed the good part, then I realised, I started looking and the bubble burst, I started looking for excuses

Come on in, I’ve gotta tell you what a state I’m in, I’ve gotta tell you in my loudest tones, that I started looking for a warning sign

When the truth is, I miss you, yeah the truth is, I miss you so”

I don’t think there’s a person in the pop or the rock world who doesn’t know about the relationship, if you can call it that, between me and Adam Marr. Their natural – correct – assumption is going to be that this is about Adam, but everyone’s going to say it’s in a romantic way, that this is some sort of love story. But it’s not. I’m not sure if I loved him at 17, but I don’t love him now. We would need to re-learn everything about each other for that.