Chris leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face in frustration. Nothing was coming out the way he wanted it to. He had so many ideas, so many melodies bubbling out from every corner of his brain. But not a single one of those tunes sounded good enough to him. He had little phrases bouncing around his mind as well; little poetic couplets that seemed to work in his head, but did not have at all the desired effect on paper.
He leaned forward and violently crumpled yet another sheet of paper. Nothing he wrote would ever be good enough. He felt as though his brain simply was not functioning as a creative tool any longer. Now I have lost the only thing I am any good at. I am completely useless now.
He laid his head on the table in defeat and felt tears start to build. He was hopeless. A hopeless failure. A complete and utter loser. He allowed the tears to flow freely, soaking his face and the table with his self-deprecation.
Suddenly he heard the creaking of a handle turning and a door being opened. He mentally cursed himself for being so careless and quickly lifted his head up, trying to dry his eyes. But it was too late. Guy had seen, and Chris knew he had. He dropped his hands from his face in surrender. There was no point in trying to hide it. Guy's large, chocolate brown eyes grew even larger.
"Chris, what's wrong?" His voiced ached with concern. In a moment he was standing before Chris's shrunken figure. "Chris, what's wrong?" he repeated, more softly.
There were a hundred million ways to answer that question. Chris chose the simplest one. "Everything," he mourned. His voice cracked, and Guy could tell that he was about to start crying again.
"Shh, it's okay," he whispered lovingly. He reached out and embraced the emotionally decrepit man. He held him for a long time before slowly releasing his grip and taking a step back to view the tear stained face of his friend. Guy's eyebrows knit tightly together in a worried frown. "Please tell me, what is it that has made you feel so horribly?"
Chris did not want to talk but Guy's gentle down compelled him to spill his heart. "I cannot write a single decent song. I am horrible. I am awful. I am dreadful. I am the worst song writer there ever was. Nothing I write comes out the way I want it to. I am incapable of writing anything better than what I have written previously. And even those songs are rubbish."
"Chris you-"
"No Guy. I should just stop trying, because the end result will undeniably be terrible. I am the worst songwriter. So I think I'm just going to give up and-"
He was stopped mid sentence by a hard slap on the face from Guy. He stood, his mouth hanging wide open and his blue eyes wide with shock.
"Shut up. What the hell are you rambling about?"
"I....but-"
"No," Guy interrupted sharply. "You are an amazing song writer. If even one person loves what you do you are a success. And you have at least three people. Three people who not only love your songwriting, but also just plain love you."
Chris's eyes once again filled with tears. Guy looked stricken. "Don't cry," he pleaded. He took an involuntary step forward.
Chris abruptly stood and held up his hand. "No, no," he replied in a shaky voice. "You do not understand." He pointed to his eyes. "These are tears of joy."
"That is a relief." Guy once again pulled Chris into a tight embrace. "Remember," he whispered, "that there are those three people that love you for you and everything that you are. Even your girly expressions of emotion."
Chris laughed and it was a relief to Guy to hear that the usual happy-go-lucky Chris had returned. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Guy simply nodded and broke free from Chris's hold on him. He turned and headed for the door. "That's what friends are for," he said as he exited the room. The words echoed around the small space, enveloping Chris. He smiled. Yes, that is what friends were for.
THE END
