I once knew a brilliant man.
His genius was flawed and raw, but every note on that screaming guitar of his shattered my soul. He had the calloused hands of a god, yet still soft. His eyes were a veritable ocean of hues in browns and hazels, and I had no qualms of diving overboard without a life preserver. He had that perfectly-wavy, sandy brown hair that curled about his ears and framed his strong jawbone. Etched onto his face in the form of wrinkles was evidence of the happy life he had led. He was a walking ray of sunshine that rained upon me every time he smiled in my direction.
The magnetism between the two of us had caught us off-guard the very first moment we made eye contact, and as the seconds, minutes and hours had trickled by we came to embrace it. We had each picked up our guitars and began our strumming, and we both knew from that moment on that we had to make music together.
"Babe, I'm going to be a rock star someday." He whispered in my ear one late night (early morning) as his hands trickled promises over the rest of my skin.
Our passion was undaunted. Each and every night we shut out the lights and the world, and lit our scented candles to illuminate us, but the true fire was the music we created. Our beautiful and sweet melody was turning into the anthem for our own little world. Never once did we glance at our strings; our movements were memorized and calculated, like precise dance steps. Not once did we break gaze.
This intangible magic flowed between us, residing in our veins like static electricity and every note we played together kept it alive.
One hot summer day the two of us had stood in the yard, hands grasped and staring at a patch of fresh soil. Simultaneously we had tossed seeds into the dirt, and kicked the fertilizer over top, hiding away those seeds until the day that they were ready to grow into lilac trees and bloom fields of purple in my backyard.
"Babe, I love you." He purred into my ear as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer. "Someday you and I will grow as tall as the trees."
As the package had promised, the seeds had grown into tiny little trees and began sprouting the sweet scented lilacs that I had waited so eagerly for in the past three years. A patch of clovers has sprung up about the two trees, in a nearly perfect circle, and religiously I search for hours on end for a four-leaf one. These days, I seem to be running low on luck.
I once knew a brilliant man. It has been three years, four months, and sixteen days since the last day I saw him, before he left with no warning. The morning birds still chirp our song, though I do not play my guitar anymore. It stands solitary in the corner of my living room, collecting dust and rusting at the strings.
I keep my hopes and dreams bottled. I spend my nights staring at the stars and wishing on the falling ones. I still light candles and watch the flames emanate magic.
I know he'll come back someday. I'm fine here waiting.
Someday soon, I'll feel those calloused fingertips and press them to my lips. Someday, this song of ours will have words.