You'll Be Alright - Taylor Swift

Part 18

"Should we put words to the piano?" I whisper to Woof as I fiddle with the keys, my sling thrown on top of the piano. I know Taylor said to wear it and give my arm a break, but that was a few days ago, and practising with one hand is boring. I can't make any new songs with one hand, just little tunes that I get bored of quickly.

"Taylor does it, and she makes it sound so pretty; maybe I can too," I add as I glance at Woof, who is sitting next to me on the bench. "What do I have to say?" I mumble, trying to figure out where to start. I feel like I have so much to say, too much, maybe. Where am I supposed to start? What can I say that others would like? I don't want to say anything wrong.

"Nothing," I grumble after repeating the same tune, unable to think of any words to go with it. I don't know how Taylor does it. It's too hard. I have nothing to say that people would want to hear, not like Taylor. Everyone wants to listen to what she has to say.

Feeling frustrated, I sigh, letting my head bash into the keys, making a rather unpleasant sound as I groan. "Hey, careful, little survivor," Taylor mumbles as she slips next to me, scooping me up as she settles into the seat. "We don't want to hurt your pretty head, do we?" She softly asks as she brushes some hair off my forehead before kissing where I just bashed against the keys. "Sorry," I mumble, scared that I am going to get in trouble for not treating the piano with the respect it deserves.

"It's alright, buddy. I just don't want you to hurt yourself," she cooed, placing another kiss on my head as she played with my hair. "What did the piano do to you?" She asks teasingly, making my frown deepen as I sink into her chest out of embarrassment.

"Nothing," I complain, earning a hum as her fingers continue to soothe my agitation as she rubs my back softly. "Well, then, why were you damaging that beautiful head of yours? I worked hard making you this gorgeous, and I did an amazing job," she smiled, making my face heat up.

"I can't do it," I complained, which made Taylor tip her head to the side as she watched me. I love that about Taylor. When I talk, she watches, and she listens. Like, actually listens to what I have to say. It's almost like she really cares about what I have to say. "What can't you do?" She asks back, her voice soft as she keeps playing with my hair.

It's weird. Cory would be mad if I couldn't do something, and Mommy would be disappointed because she knew if I couldn't do something, I would get in trouble with Cory. Taylor is neither of those things.

"I wanted to put words to the piano, like you. But I have nothing to say. Why would anyone care about what I say?" I complain, glancing back at the piano to glare at it slightly, disappointed I couldn't do it. However, my glaring doesn't last long as a soft touch tilts my head back to face Taylor as she smiles at me.

"I care about what you have to say, little survivor. You have so much to say, and I want to listen to all of it. Listening to you talk is my favourite thing," she admits, making me hide my face in her neck. It's safe there. I don't have to look at anyone, so I can pretend they're not there, and it smells like Taylor, so it reminds me I'm safe and sound. Because when I'm with Taylor, I feel safe for the first time ever.

"It's hard sometimes to write what you feel. Especially when you have lots of big feelings, but it can also help sometimes to put how you feel in words. It's not about writing what you think people want to hear, though, buddy. It's about writing what you want to say. It's about getting the thoughts from here," she gently taps my head, "to here," she moves us slightly before placing my hands on the piano keys.

"Nothing else matters. I will always want to listen to what you want to say. But it shouldn't be about that. It should be about saying your piece and helping yourself feel better by getting the words out. It's between you and the music," she explains, making me hum as I listen.