I Want To Write You A Song

Little Freak

The next few days were normal, except I didn't avoid Harry at all costs. We actually got to know each other pretty well. I told him about my migraine situation. He told me about his back issues. I told him about my shitty family. He told me that he's a momma's boy. We also agreed on the following:

FRIENDS is the best tv show of all time

Fleetwood Mac is somehow underrated and so popular

Vinyls > CDs

Music is the best thing on the planet

I just got to the studio, we're not recording today, but I've been writing and I wanted to try my newest song on guitar, but mine is broken, so I'm here instead. It's sad, the song, for one thing. It's called Little Freak.

"Little freak, you jezebel. You sit high atop the kitchen counter. Stay green a little while, you bring blue lights to dreams. Starry haze, crystal ball. Somehow you've become some paranoia. Wet dream, just dangling, but your gift is wasted on me.

I was thinking about who you are, your delicate point of view, i was thinking about you. I'm not worried about where you are or who you go home to, I was thinking about you. Thinking about you."

I told you. It's not an easy song to hear.

"Did you dress up for Halloween? I spilled beer on your friend, I'm not sorry. Golf swing and a trampoline, maybe we'll do this again. Track suit and a pony tail, you hide the body all that yoga gave ya. Red wine and a ginger ale. But you would make fun of me for sure.

I was thinking about who you are, your delicate point of view, i was thinking about you. I'm not worried about where you are or who you go home to, I'm just thinking about you."

Now for the hard part.

"I disrespected you. Jumped in feet first and I landed too hard. Broken ankle, karma rules. You never saw my birthmark.

I was thinking about who you are, your delicate point of view, i was thinking about you. I'm not worried about where you are or who you go home to, I'm just thinking about you.

Just thinking about you. Just thinking about you."

"When'd you write that?"

I jumped from my seat, almost dropping the guitar.

"How much of that did you hear?"

Mitch chuckled, "enough to know that Harry would like to hear that."

"No, it's just some dumb song, like the ones all kids write in third grade and pretend to be cool. It's not good."

He just stared at me like I said something stupid. "It's actually quite the opposite. It's really good. You should at least sell it if you aren't gonna record it."

"Sell it?"

He chuckled, "Yeah, sell it. Lots of artists have bought songs from songwriters. Sometimes people just have no inspiration. Even artists write and sell songs. You listen to Ed Sheeran?"

"Of course."

"He wrote and sold stuff to One Direction, which Harry told me you're a fan of. Little Things, 18, over again, moments. Those are all Ed. 1-D just bought it."

"Yeah...do you think Harry would actually like it?" Even if he did, he wouldn't use it.

"Yeah...yeah he would..." he looked up from his phone, he told me himself, I sent him the recording.

"MITCH ROWLAND!" I can't believe he would record it...but at least Harry likes it.

"Sorry, not sorry. Harry's on his way." And then he left. Straight up left.