another couple of 55's

He never liked coffee nor sitting outside the house during a cold night. But tonight, he sat there, with a cup of coffee, pondering. He closes his eyes and listens to the chorus of crickets in July. Their song reminds him of home. A tear is shed, his goodbye might not be that far away.

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He strums his guitar, while the sound it makes is drowned by the falling rain. He sings his heart out to her, even though she can't hear him. As his fingers slide in each fret and lock each string, he remembers her smile, her eyes, her hair - each chord, each note, each line is her.