Shutter Speed

Days 85 + 86

"I wish I had done everything on Earth with you." – F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Days 85 + 86

I understand why Ellie needed three months to get to know me before agreeing to follow me around the country. I understand that any reasonable person wouldn't say yes if a random musician asked them to practically run away together. However, understanding and acceptance don't always go hand in hand. In this scenario, acceptance is a lot harder than understanding. Sure, I understand Ellie couldn't just pick up her entire life for a stranger, but to this day I wish she had. My time with Ellie will never be enough in my eyes, and I beat myself up for the moments we didn't spend by one another's side. Eighty-five long days and nights passed between the time I met Ellie and the day she finally joined me on tour.

I spent those eighty-five days riding the most intense emotional roller coaster of my life until that point. My highs – those first few days with Ellie and every moment we spoke – were the highest points I was capable of reaching, but my lows? My lows were dark and cold and lonely. My lows were so low that they'd intimidate the Mariana Trench. In those eight-five days, though, I wrote the first songs about Ellie. I became focused on pianos and acoustic guitars and ukuleles because the sound of strings became a priority after Ellie walked into my life. Strings said things I couldn't. Pianos and guitars had a wider vocabulary than me so writing with strings, when it came to writing about Ellie, seemed to come even more naturally. Needless to say, my sound took a turn from what my fans were generally used to. Not every song became a slow ballad, but most songs were about Ellie regardless.

I don't think I ever wrote as prolifically as I did in those eighty-five days. I may have written as many words as Stephen King took to write It over the course of twelve years. Writing was the one thing that managed to distract me from heartache. Some of my favorite songs came out of those eighty-five days. I still sing some of those songs on every tour.

I wonder how long it took her to realize I was singing about her.

There was a shift in Ellie that first night on tour. She met me at a venue and after the concert, I noticed how uncharacteristically quiet she was once we settled into the bus for the night. I couldn't sleep worrying about if everything was okay. I began to overcompensate. I began to overwhelm her. The worst part about my behavior is that as much as I wanted to stop, I only caused my anxiety to spike even more and my behavior to worsen in response. Eventually, Ellie reached for my wrist in the middle of me pacing up and down the length of the bus like a maniac.

"Jensen," Ellie's voice came out unusually timid. She tugged my wrist lightly, pleading for me to sit beside her. I hesitantly lowered myself next to her, her gentle grip still grounding me. "What's wrong?"

My eyes darted rapidly, and thoughts raced so quickly I could swear something was catching on fire within my body. "Something's wrong, isn't it?" My voice was weak - too weak. I swallowed hard, exhaling slowly and hoped she couldn't hear the pounding of my anxious heart.

Ellie knitted her eyebrows together, "That's what I'm asking you. Is everything okay?"

I began to slowly nod a moment before it shifted into an aggressive shaking my head no. "You-" I sighed, unaware of how to word myself. "I feel like you're not okay," I spoke softly, but honestly. "Did I do something wrong?"

Ellie pulled her hand back, the warmth of her fingers leaving my wrist leaving a sensation and pain only absence can cause. "No," Ellie shook her head, "you didn't do anything wrong. It's just-" Her eyes glanced around the bus, never once daring to land on me. "I think I'm just overwhelmed is all."