He picked up this notion the moment his parents had bought him his first guitar for his birthday, using the instrument to let out his own demons and frustrations. It was from that moment he knew he could make something beautiful, the music he made ignited a fire within him. The sort of fire that couldn't be put out easily, much to his parents' dismay.
Music gave his life meaning, his sole purpose to bring joy to others around him. His creative outlet of writing songs and strumming his guitar ignited the flame to become a performer, to dream bigger than the normal and boring nine-to-five office job. Young Luke Patterson wanted to become a musician, a rockstar. Even to this day, he couldn't see himself as anything else, sacrificing so much in such little time.
He couldn't remember what he did before songwriting, the strong feeling within him guided his pen down on paper. His thoughts were jumbled around in his head, his emotions pouring out of him like a faucet as he scribbled away in his notebook. The book itself was an extension of himself, his thoughts and overbearing emotions put into words. It was beautiful mess, but Luke wouldn't have it any other way.
"Hey, dude. What's with the flashlight?" Reggie yawned, finding the brunet crammed into a corner of Julie's mother's studio, scribbling away in notebook. The ghost had only sworn that he had been writing since Maggie had left him, leaving little-to-no trace to where she could be.
He could've sworn that he was here only for a few minutes, but the sun had already peaked from its spot behind the Hollywood sign, raining down its warmth on the citizens of Los Angeles. Admittedly, the guitarist of Sunset Curve had been curled away from his bandmates for the past few hours, putting his thoughts to ink and paper.
