I am smothering under my blankets, hiding from the world, pretending to sleep. Slowly, I breathe in deep, feeling my lungs expand, trying to relax every muscle. Holding the air in my lungs; letting it reach over my exhausted body. I start to fade breathing in and out, knowing I will be with him soon. I know where to find him: on his porch, playing his guitar. So close, I can hear each finger strum the cord of my song—our song—Pink Floyd
’s “Wish you were here.” I stare, admiring him for a moment. His arms are strong; flexing slightly as he plays. My eyes wander to his face—perfection is all I see. Biting his bottom lip, eyes closed as he hums, I wonder what he thinking. The expression, tense.
