We didn't always notice the difference between what we wanted and what we needed. I knew I could never truly decide what I wanted to feel and what I needed to feel. Love wasn't something necessary, I just made it out to be. I didn't need her, I wanted her because she had somehow been all that had kept me grounded for a few years and I was afraid to lose my balance in this world, even if I had long ago. I had lost myself trying to hold onto her.
I knew it was all a call for help. My drinking habit, the music I played in pubs, the carefree attitude, as if nothing mattered. Hell, even the unreasonable amount of cigarettes was a cry for help. How could we help ourselves and get better when we didn't know who we were? The alcohol had washed memories of her away but, little by little, it had also taken away who I had become. And I had encouraged my own loss. How stupid did that sound?
I thought Rose had seen the problem when she came over that day, but she hadn't. I couldn't leave this flat, it was a part of me I didn't want to let go, that I couldn't lose. Sure, it was hard living here, but it was the only thing that remained the same during the past year of my life, during the rough times I went through. And if I gave up on that, I wasn't sure I could ever find myself again.
It was now 2am, I was sat on my bed, my guitar in between my hands. I couldn't afford to drink so much anymore. This couldn't be an escape since I had no job.
Writing wasn't easy. I couldn't find the words to express myself, to tell all that I was feeling. It must have been one of the worst things not to be able to put words on what we were feeling because that meant we didn't know how to handle ourselves, we had no idea what the issue was and therefore we couldn't find a solution. We were stuck.
I was stuck at the lowest I'd ever been. At least it seemed so. I felt in too deep and I wasn't sure how to catch my breath again. This had broken me, numbed me. Numb. Stun. Wait...
I strummed a few chords on my guitar, not satisfied with the rhythm of the song. It could be much better, much catchy. It had to be.
When I finally found what I wanted the song to sound like, I went back to the lyrics. My brain was filled with musical notions, with lyrics, strumming and picking patterns, chords... It felt great, relieving, almost. It chased out all the demons and bad thoughts I had inside my head. Even if if was just temporary and they'd come back, at least I could breathe a little again.
Exorcise these demons
But they keep talking to me.
I am no believer,
But I believe you will relieve me,
I believe you will relieve me,
And that's what's going on.
***
I woke up the next morning, my back aching more than it had ever had in my life. That was all I got for falling asleep while doing something once again.
I felt quite proud of myself though, for writing three songs that could be worth listening to last night, when I thought that I couldn't do anything in my life. After all, I might have been able to move on, and make something of myself without anybody's help. It was a pleasant idea.
Smiling like an idiot, I made a cup of coffee and once I had drank it, I took a shower. I could be positive. I had the power to see the good side of everything, and that was something I should have done more often. I was aware that I'd said this a lot of times, but if I repeated it enough, it might have actually come true.
I took my guitar and went outside, just playing, not hoping to get anything, but I was surprised in a good way when some people left a few pounds in my guitar case. I could get used to that, to living thanks to my music. Even if I could just get me a coffee from the money I had made in the last three hours. Well, I could only wish that my situation wasn't so hopeless.
I packed my guitar and went straight to an old coffee bar I used to go to everyday, a few years ago. They were the kindest people you could ever meet in your entire life, or at least, they used to be. It was a family business, and I had seen children running around on Saturday afternoons, asking the customers' orders and making them write it down on slates and bringing them to their parents or grandparents. It was such a lovely place to be.
When I entered, I was overwhelmed with the nice smell of coffee and wood, just like in the libraries and old bookshops. I loved it. I took in my surroundings. There was no smiling child, just two people sat alone near the window, not talking. There was a girl I had never seen behind the counter, she mustn't have been older than I was and seemed lost in her thoughts. I was observing the differences when I knocked my guitar case into a table, instantly cursing at myself and looking up to see if I should have apologized to anyone. The girl at the counter was watching me, surprised. I felt my face warm up. I wasn't supposed to blush like that for something so irrelevant.
"I'm sorry!" I said quickly.
"What for? You didn't do anything wrong," She whispered. Then she cleared her throat and smiled. "Can I do anything for you?"
My mind reacted immediately, deciding whether to ask for a coffee or an explanation. "What happened to this place?" I finally let out, making my way to the counter.
"What do you mean?" She frowned. Of course she couldn't have known how it used to be. She was probably hired a few months ago, when it had already changed.
"I used to come here all the time a few years ago, and I just remembered it being so full of life and love, you see what I mean? I don't want to offend you, but it doesn't feel the same, and I was wondering what made it change. Now I'm rambling." I quieted at the end, afraid to have said something wrong. She smiled sadly.
"Yes, I know what you mean. It's strange, I don't remember you. Anyway, uh... My mum, Layla, who owned this place was diagnosed with, uh... cancer, and so the coffee had been kind of left behind for a while. And, after she, well... passed away, it felt hard to come back in here because it reminded us of her, so most of my family decided to give up. But it was the thing she was the proudest of, and I couldn't let some random company destroy it. However, people seemed to have moved on, and there's rarely anyone in here anymore. I'm sorry you have to witness that." The girl said, not looking at me once. I could understand why. It must have been hard to talk about things like that. The worst things in life came free to us.
"Layla was an amazing woman. And I'm positive she would be proud of you for trying to make this work."
That explained the deep thoughts she was in. The business -her mom's business- was falling apart.
"Why didn't I remember you? I came her everyday..." I asked slowly, not wanting to sound rude.
"I've been away in Leeds for my studies for a while. I only visited a few weeks a year." She answered, flatly. Well, that explained why I didn't know her. She shook her head and smiled at me. "Did you want anything to drink?"
I heard the front door closing before I could answer, the two people who were here had left without even saying goodbye. I felt a stabbing pain in my chest. Life could be so unfair.
"Sure. Do you still make Macchiatos?" Oh sweet memories! Just the name of the beverage made my heart beat faster. Why didn't I find comfort in this drink before? The main reason was that it didn't have the ability to make me forget about her, but I refused to see that once again so many things had changed.
"Of course. It's my favourite!" She laughed and I couldn't help but smile. There was something about the laugh of people going through hard times that made it contagious. "You'll have it in two minutes." She turned away to make it.
"What if you made yourself one too, and we had a bit of a talk? I mean it must feel kind of lonely in here..." I said, deciding that life was too short to let people feel down and alone. And, after all, I had nothing to lose.
She turned again, smiling so big her eyes were shining. "Thank you." The way her face lit up was worth all the time I was spending in here, worth every penny I'd spend for coffee that I should have spent on food. Happiness was the best state to see someone in, and I wasn't willing to let someone go through what I was going through. It was hard enough to live with myself.
***
"It was the best thing I've drank in two years, and god knows I drank a lot." I grinned. It was better to joke about the most difficult things in life. I'd learned that the hard way and still couldn't completely live by it.
"Thanks. Shouldn't you be going home? It's getting late." She answered, looking down at her hands.
"What time are you closing at?" I asked, looking at my watch to see what time it was. 9:13pm.
"I don't know. I usually just spend the night in here in case someone wants to come in. Two pounds at four in the morning is better than nothing, you know."
Wasn't it stupidly unfair how life was based on money? Even if we understood that it was just material, we couldn't live without it. Society didn't allow it.
"About that..." I whispered, trying to find the money in my pocket. I eventually got up to make it easier to empty my pocket. "Here's for the Macchiato. And you can keep the change. Oh, and I'm sorry it's all in pieces, it's just like my heart." She stared at me, a sad look in her eyes. I hesitated between telling her I was joking or just letting it be the truth I refused to admit to myself. I eventually settled with saying that it was the money I had made by busking this morning.
"Ed, you know there's way more than the two pounds it costs." Flora asked in disbelief.
I looked straight into her eyes. I realised I had been way too selfish, putting focus only on myself when I could have helped people and when that help I could give could have made me feel better about myself in return.
There was something about the woman in front of me, something that made her so human. The kind of humanity we often forgot about: vulnerable yet full of strengths which just couldn't be expressed. The sight of it and the realisation that words could be useless to communicate with someone true to themselves and everyone around them made me hope that every broken thing might have been fixable eventually.