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Paul entered his living room, with a strong fire that was already turned on and warming the whole room.
To anyone in that house that saw that, a fireplace that turned on on itself would have made them feel crazy, at least fearful of the dangers of it.
But Paul knew better than that.
“Good morning, Johnny.” He said in a barely sounding whisper, like this was a common thing.
He sat on the couch close to the fire without being able to repremain a groan.
“‘m getting old fast, you should be more considerate of my sleeping schedule, you know?”
'At least you're able to do so, old man.'
Paul allowed himself to make a little smile, oh there he was. “Oh John, no need to be cranky, its sunday.”
The voice then spoke again, and Paul could swear it got closer to him.
'm bored macca, your beauty sleep can wait'
And with that, the sound of fingers touching delicately the cords of the guitar next to the couch could be heard.
“Creppy, you are creepy Lennon, do I have to say that to you?” Paul said, his smile still present in his face, there is no bite in his words, there hadn't been in a long time.
When John died, they weren't on the best terms. In perspective they were getting better, at least the fewer years. But both knew that they never really got to be what one time they were, and never got it.
At least that was what Paul thought.
“I always ask the same thing, and I never got a good answer. Why do you stay here, Johnny?” said Paul while grabbing the guitar, this time being the one that plays the exact same accords he heard.
'You do this every morinig.They do not make good music, they do not do music at all. Not like you.'
And while hearing those words almost whisper in his ears,the ghost of a hand brushes against his back. The cold fingers dig a long pad from one of his shoulders to another. That spider dance he knew well. If he was, if both were in the mind state of their younger years, John wouldn't be able to say that and Paul wouldn't be able to accept. Luckily, John seems to still continue to grow up next to him, even if Paul still didn't get the hang of all the ghost thing, even after years of it.
So he didn't fight it, or mock him, just sigly nodded in agreement.
“Not everything is music, darling. Sometimes people only want to know if you're ok, if you still love them.”
The sensation of the fingers stops abruptly.
'They don't need me, I don't think they ever had. They are better without me and you know it. I wasn't the best in… family matters, in parner matters. All I ever was good at was in music.'
The voice stops, at the same time like the fair touch. At this point Paul knew it was just another way John showed that he was thinking his next words.
'Life, death, i realize everything is the same, Everything is music, every little detail of it. I thought you would get that, that you would be the one person in the world after me that got that.'
As the words were whispered in Paul's ears the fire started growing almost dangerously.
Paul should be scared, something in the back of his head told him so. But as the years went by, he realized that it didn't matter anymore.
“Oh, John” Paul sighs, resigning himself to grab the acoustic guitar better and start striking some chores.
I know it's true
It's all because of you
And if I make it through
It's all because of you
Now and then
I miss you
Oh, now and then
I want you to be there for me
It was a sweet melody, the last breath of what became the memories of a lifetime.
A huge silence entered the room at the moment Paul stopped singing.
'I'm so glad you waited to be able to fix my audio to get the song to the public, Jesus Paul.'
And Paul understood the comment, The way that Paul sang that pieces of lyrics were hard on the edges, too raw to ever consider going out in public.That doesn't mean he didnt feel anything on it.
“Not all of us had that amazing voice of yours and were able to not ruin it with age.”
Paul felt fingers dancing in his shoulders, making him shiver.
'No, you don't get it. I think that you didn't use your voice as a good thing because I would rise about the deaths if I ever let anyone listen to your version that is not me.'
Paul could only smile.
“Flattering does not suit you”
A laugh could be hear, clear and loud, that almost make Paul drop a tear.
'Common then, earn it. Sing another one'