Page 20 of A Little Campfire Blues

You call me stubborn.

But it isn’t stubbornness that keeps me going.

It’s the fear of going from useless to nothing.

From useless to nothing

Born to be a broken dream

Burnout, loser.

All I want is to be seen.

But that’ll never happen, will it?

You can’t open your eyes.

You just look for the bad in me.

Content to laugh

And spread more lies.

I was never the bad boy.

I just wanted a moment of time.

A hug, a story, your smile

Why does wanting your love

Feel like committing a crime?

Something rustled behind me, and I immediately stopped singing, though my fingers kept playing with the chords as I glanced back over my shoulder to see a chipmunk sitting there,completely at ease and unbothered by the music. It took off when we made eye contact, but I didn’t dare go back to singing. The last thing I needed was Roman or Ezzy wandering along as the lyrics came together, ‘cause they’d ask questions, and never once had I ever lied to them.

The tone was as melancholy as my mood, but I couldn’t stop playing it, adding a flourish here and a somber riff there, slowly beginning to tweak it in between pausing to scribble more lyrics or rearrange some.

“Good spot for playing.”

I nearly fell the fuck off my rock when that voice cut through the music from somewhere behind me. Whipping my head around provided no answers; all it did was let my long hair blind me and force me to bat at it until I could see Mackenzie standing several feet away, watching me.

“Yeah, it, um, it really is,” I admitted, ducking my head and immediately reaching for the case so I could put my guitar away.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s probably time for breakfast,” I muttered, putting it away anyway. “Judging by the shimmer on the lake, I’ve been out here a while.”

“Easy to get lost in the music when you’re in love with it.”

I chuckled at that, low and bitter, ‘cause he was right; I did love it. Sometimes I really hated that about myself. Of course, self-loathing had a way of making me testy, which meant my voice was a grumbled mix of sarcasm and snark when I addressed him.

“What makes you think I love it?”

My tone didn’t throw him, not one little bit. He just cocked an eyebrow at me and smirked until I dropped my gaze, conceding defeat.

“The look on your face when you were playing last night.”

“That was for Ezzy,” I muttered.

---