lyricallies
The little strands of hair obstructed my vision of him for a few moments. I angryily thought of the elastic that was obviously not doing its job. He smiled at my sour expression and turned back to he guitar in his hand. Nine months, god. Irony is such a strange thing. What were the odds of me finding him here on this bench, ever present guitar in lap. He just looked up, no judgement in his eyes and whispered, "welcome back."