He's two rooms away, which only equates to about ten feet.
He's strumming the guitar. No, not strumming. Plucking. No, that's not it either. It's not a cliche guitar verb. It's something smoother. He's turning the guitar. He's spinning the air with the sound from the inside. The wood vibrates.
I told him this was my favorite cardigan, and if he could please compliment me on it. He told me he likes my bangs, too.
When I first met him he played guitar. Confidence. And he sang, too. He made me want to sing, but I was scared. I'm always scared. About new bangs, and about singing in front of people.
But he makes me feel okay about both. He makes me feel good about both.
I learned today that I tell him everything.
That means something-- when you can tell someone everything. When you don't hold back. When you can express love openly, disagree openly, divulge openly, and you're never ashamed of your small thoughts that sometimes you just want to speak.
I'm glad he still plays the guitar.
Baptism, grandparents, and Marathon Kids
2 months ago