Page 210 of Haunt Me

Would I be kind?

My voice breaks. She shivers against me, and I pull her tighter against me to warm her. But I go on reading, until I have read the entirety of her own poem to her.

Until we have both been destroyed.

After I’ve finished reading it, we just sit there in complete silence.

“Can I have it?” I ask her. I have wanted this poem since I first read it. The hold it has on me is surreal. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. “May I put music to it? The boys are here, we can record it tomorrow, or the day after. I want to make it a single.”

Eden sits up and turns to face me. Her eyes are red from crying.I screwed up.

“Your new album is finished,” she replies.

I shrug. “I don’t care. Can I have it?”

“Yes, you can.” Eden nods, once. Then she adds: “Yes, please.”

I smile. “It’s almost as if you trust me or something.”

“I’d love it if someone gave it life,” she says. “No, not someone.You.”

Suddenly, my mind is so clear and sharp, it’s bright as day in there. Lyrics start coming to me. The music, I already had—but now, there are words there.

I kneel on the carpet by her feet.

“Can I add a verse to it?” I ask her.

She looks a bit confused, but I think it’s because of the expression on my face, not my question. The sudden intensity that’s gripped me.

“What do you want to add?” she asks.

“I want to add an ‘As If’ verse,” I reply. “I have been calling it ‘As If’ in my head. I didn’t know I had it already formed, but it seems that I have been thinking in lyrics since I met you again. It would say something like…”

I grab my guitar and sing:

I get the applause and they think

I like the applause as if

As if it could ever replace seeing your face

Somewhere in the crowd

As if the applause will ever make up

For the fact that you’re not here.

“Can you repeat it?” Eden asks after thinking about the words for a bit.

I sing it again. She looks at me, her eyes getting wet with tears.

“No, don’t…” I start, then I discover I am already crying too.

“It’s for your dad,” she says. “How fitting with my poem.”

I swallow. I’ve never written a song about my dad. Couldn’t. Until now. She released me from my prison of silence.

“It’s my dad, and it’s for you too,” I reply, swallowing my silent tears. “I was thinking of you as well when the words came to me. Of him and you. Is that ok?”

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