I touched her hand with my own, “You’re the only one that seems to.”

We walked home. We never unlinked our arms. It was comforting. I could never explain it. But I loved the feeling of it. I loved the fact that she could still see me…the real me. She was my best friend. She always was and probably always would be.

I went into the studio everyday at nine a.m. and I would work until around two. Mostly I was just working on the songs that I wrote while I was in L.A. I put music to all the lyrics that I had written. To me the studio was home. I took the time to sit down in front of the keyboard. I set it to sound like a grand piano. My fingers gently glided across the keys. I made up something off the top of my head. I quickly took the time to memorize every stroke of every key. The lyrics weren’t flowing freely but the music that was coming out of me was beyond beautiful.

“Damn Davies. If I didn’t know any better I’d think that you were gonna dip into the classical music pool.”

I stopped playing a turned to my left, “Hey Mark.”

He walked into the studio and took a seat beside me, “What was that?”

“Um…just something off the top of my head.”

“It was beautiful.”

I turned off the keyboard, “Thanks. So, what’s up?”

“I was just about to ask you the same question. You’re never this gung-hoe when it comes to writing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’ve written some amazing songs over the years. But never dozens of them at one time.”

“The creative juices have just been flowing at high speeds. That’s all.”

“Ash, I’m not stupid. What’s happened to you? Ever since you came back from L.A. something’s been off.”

“You remember the girl I told you about, the one I dated in high school?”

“Wasn’t her name Stacy?”

“No, her name was Spencer.” There was a dead silence between the two of us, “That’s not the point. The point is that when I went back to L.A. it was for the reading of her father’s will. I went back and everything just became more confusing then it ever was before.”