The guitar hummed quietly beside her, filled with the voices of a thousand songs beat gently down into its worn, hollowed body. Her hand grabbed its neck and she twisted it in front of her, letting it sit snugly on her lap.
“I haven’t touched you in forever. Oh how provacative. It’ll be like our first time,” she mused. Her smile dropped to a concentrated look, her eyebrows crinkled and her jaw stiffened. “Well, let’s see. Key of F. Dm C…” Her hands explored the fret board, re-familiarizing themselves with the indentations so many other musicians had left behind for her to discover. Her soul swelled with each chord she brushed out, each note she carefully plucked from the rustic strings. Her love and passion grew bold and the melody she put forth wove its way gently acround the blades of grass and above the branches of trees, filling the secluded meadow with songs of her wordless stories.
Her braided her snaked across her back as she swayed, and for the first time in ages, she felt complete.