Guitar strings strummed gently. I remember the way your
hands moved. Swaying motions like grass blades in a breeze. Rough calloused
fingers of a guitarist. These were the hands of a lover. Firm and reliable.
Eyes occasionally glanced at me. You always focused on
playing the right chords. But I didn’t mind. Because you always smiled when you
held that guitar. Lips tugged slightly. Smiling. During those moments, you
never spoke. There was no need for words. It would only ripple the quiet
serenade.
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