Coping

I don't know what I'm doing. Why am I writing this? There is no point.

I groaned and pushed away the notebook in front of me. Why am I trying to write a song? I'm no good at rhyming. I write free verse.

But I picked up the pen and kept writing.

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"I wasn't avoiding you

But you thought I was

I didn't talk to anyone

I know you tried to reach out

But I was unreachable

How long till you gave up?"

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I cried. I hadn't talked to Austin in months. I knew it was my fault. I stopped talking to people. I stopped being social. I stopped talking to my best friend.

I strummed my guitar, feeling the chord vibrate me to my core. I had written a song. It wasn't great. It was actually pretty bad. But I had written it. My emotions, my thoughts, my pain was on this page.

I took a deep breath, and sang.