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understand what my mind is showing me. Damn. If I do this, I end it. All of it. Not just for me. Without another word, I hang my head and turn away to return to my room. I don’t dare look back at him. Let him think what he wants. Fucker.
    I slam the door behind me and throw myself onto the bed. Placing my fingertips at my temples, I rub, hoping to calm the pounding of need. Want. Longing. I lay there for hours. No amount of self-soothing calms the internal pain, and the peace of sleep is evidently denied to the damned.

My guitar rests on my lap as I sit in a black, thick-cushioned leather chair in the studio. It’s a small room outside of the recording booth with several large chairs placed around the walls. I arrived yesterday and met the famous music writer and composer, Ryan Poole, along with his crew in this very same room. He graciously spent time explaining that he loves my sound and doesn’t want to change a thing. The idea of moving in a more pop direction isn’t to alter the style of my music, just to work on new techniques and stay current. We discussed ideas for the new album and decided to begin this morning.
    When I walked in early this A.M., Ryan wanted to immediately get started. He introduced me to Julie and Mel, two of his best music composers and producers. Julie looks like a real life pixie fairy with her elfin looks and dark, boy-cut hair. Mel, on the other hand, looks like every other wannabe country singer in this town with his trucker hat and handsome looks. After everyone becomes acquainted with one another, it seems like we are finally ready to get down to business. We all discuss a couple different ideas before Ryan answers his phone and has to excuse himself.
    Julie smiles at me and ask with a quaint, British accent, “Is there a certain direction you want to take this next album?”
    I instantly realize that she is asking if I know what I want to write about. What drives me to drink or doesn’t, so to speak. “Not sure yet. My newest single that I want to include on this record is more of a fun, flirty song. My first record centered on the pain and loss I experienced growing up. I really would like to change the direction for this one. Honestly though, I’m not sure where it’s going to go until I start,” I answer, looking directly at her.
    “Sounds good. Let’s get to work then. We’ll start out writing what comes. Then, in about an hour, see where we all end up,” she says, reaching over to open a notebook similar to the one I have beside me.
    I place my guitar next to me and reach for my pen to write down my ideas. Tapping it against the paper, I close my eyes and try to make sense of the nonsense floating around my brain. My thoughts, however, go back over last night. I spent it in the apartment they had arranged for me to use. As expected, it was nice, but not close to the warm, fuzzy feeling you get from being in your own home. It reminded me too much of being on tour.
    Music tours aren’t all they are cracked up to be because of the frequent change of scenery, especially on a tour bus. That’s the hardest part of being on the road for most people. The view on the outside is constantly replaced by the landscape of the next town. Living on the road was fun for about the first two weeks, then I missed the very things that I was so happy to leave behind when I left home. The same bed that I had slept in since I was a little girl, my dad making sure I knew when curfew was for the hundredth time, and the ever constant reminders of my mom. I missed it all and wanted it back with a vengeance.
    A sad smile spreads across my face. I remember that, for the first time in my life, I felt like a solitary traveler. The irony was that I was surrounded by people. My manager, the band, backup singers, and my driver just on my tour bus. Not to mention, at that same juncture in my life, I was experiencing the loss of my first love. Tag’s betrayal gutted me. Because of love, he was able to