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.