Writing Songs

Opening my eyes, I clicked the pen and brought the tip down against the fresh white paper.

"Alright..." I murmured to the empty room. "Let's give Yerin something she can sing from her soul."

I closed my eyes again, letting the instrumental beat dictate the syllable structure. In my mind, I didn't see a mega-stadium or millions of screaming fans. I saw Yerin-not the glittering, icy 'Nova' pop star, but the sweet, chaotic girl who wore oversized hoodies, snuck past high-society security guards, and giggled while eating snacks in my bed.

My pen began to move across the paper, the ink flowing smoothly in steady, rhythmic lines.

Verse 1: I used to think the night was all I had,

An empty room, a window, and the rain.

I learned to smile when I was falling apart,

And call surviving something close to living.