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We take our places and I slide the guitar strap over my head, the familiar motion taking me right into the frame of mind I need. This is where I’m most comfortable, on stage, singing. Even though I’m on display for thousands or, like tonight, millions of people, performing makes me feel invisible somehow. Like I’m just another one of the nameless, faceless people out in the audience.
My music is an extension of me. The emotions I feel when I’m writing each song just as strong one, two, hell even ten years later when I perform it for the millionth time. I get lost in the lyrics, let the pain or joy or whatever I felt at the time I wrote it, escape out of me a tiny bit at a time. It unburdens me, frees me somehow.
The crowd is wildly enthusiastic as Hawke and Dax start the intro to our nominated song, the platinum selling Unconscious Devotion. Gavin and I join in on our guitars and at my cue I start to sing.
How could I know that we’d be like this
Me drinking in your closeness
Worshiping in every thing you did
With a cautious awareness
I thought in circles in my mind until it brought me to my knees.
The never-ending heartbreak I felt when you vanished in the breeze.
You didn’t know that I’d never let go
Memories replay in slow motion
Hidden thoughts tapping on the door
Of my unconscious devotion.
I feel the loss
I feel the loss of you
I should hate you but I can’t
You remain untouchable
That fateful day that you walked away
Was always unavoidable
Couldn’t purge the thoughts of us becoming more than we were
Didn’t know I wanted it until I was shown the door
You didn’t know that I’d never let go
Memories replay in slow motion
Hidden thoughts tapping on the door
Of my unconscious devotion.
I pour my soul into the song, the one and only song that I wrote while I was in rehab. The one I wrote for myself, to heal, to get out of the dark place I went to after Ellie, and that’s the one that gets us the Grammy nominations.
I laughed when we were told, because if I didn’t, I’d crack up and turn back to the bottle. We’ve definitely lived up to our band’s name, the irony of this wasn’t lost on me. The worst event in my life turns into the song that the world loves to hear the most.
Dax’s guitar finishes the song and the crowd of fancy suits and gowns cheers enthusiastically. I wave and smile, giving them what they want, before removing the guitar and walking off stage with my mates.
For a moment I allow myself to wonder if Ellie’s watching. Has she heard the song? Does she know it’s about her? Then I come to my senses and force myself to think of something else. Nothing good ever comes from going down that road. I’ve learned that the hard way.
“Hi, that was beautiful.”
