There was a night not long ago, he played the guitar and sang for her. This is not the beginning of their story, yet it was a beautiful moment along the way.
The dim light of their palpable distance set a glow on the face of his golden guitar. She could, at that moment, see her face in the gleaming surface, her reflection smiling back at her, a smile she had not so oft seen. She watched as his fingers choreographed their way along the strings, dancing the quickstep, as they are known to do once the sun sets. Her eyes moved to his face, growing contentedly familiar now, and noticed the way the corner of his eyes gently wrinkled as he sang, and noticed even more so how the words arose from his endearingly slightly crooked mouth. Yet, it was how he looked at her as he lifted his gaze to meet hers, and the energy between them that caused a quiet stirring in her heart and his.
Unbeknownst to them, this stirring would soon fade, not in their hearts, but in possibility. It was but a night. He carried with him a weight behind those reticent, yet yielding eyes. He would draw her close and push her away fighting the magnetism that kept pulling them together no matter how he pushed. But it was not enough. She felt it. She knew. She was unlike most, this girl, and he was not at all prepared for her. She saw him like no other, and yet somehow it didn’t quite matter. Not now. Her heart still in tact, her words staccato yet free; all she heard was the faint sound of his voice trailing off in the distance and in her own audible heartbeat, the sudden, unexpected rush of peace.
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