pluck.
the guitar strings harmonized under his touch, as if they were a life of their own.
plucc.
that didn't sound right
and suddenly, his fingers flew of the guitar, as if he was shocked by the current they held.
he led out a sigh.
many people walked by him, throwing him remorseful looks.
after all , to them, he looked like a street musician that played for a couple of dimes.
its just, he realized, sometimes playing any futile instrument required time and logic.
like for example, playing by the FedEx building on the right, would require classical tunes to vibrate throughout the wind, to attract some, if any, on goers.
the bank on the left? they held the home for jazz.
in fact, the only place that really did not have a certain improvisation, was here.
where the bare, lonely trees and the still, silent lake lay.
they listened.
he rubbed his hands, and blew a puff from the cold.
try, try, and try again.
he held the guitar when something marvelous happened.
little...little specks of white fell from the sky.
he strummed.
the people looked up and little echos of "ooh" and "ahh" arose.
he stroke harder.
and suddenly the families started to dance.
to sing.
to laugh.
and he stroke the hardest he could.
the small hat his mother gave him, was full of rattling coins, and sterile bills.
and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something.
someone.
her rigid posture, and lack of excitement appalled to him.
she watched him carefully, as if she was trying to figure something out.
and he caught her gaze... and smiled.
the snowflakes danced with the children, and landed gracefully at their tongues.
but , as she lifted her lips to a small smile, he had decided he never had seen something so beautiful as that.
the girl turned away, and drifted off.
and he picked up his guitar and sauntered off.
knowing that they would probably never meet again.
however, when he walked up to the " Manhatten Shelter for the Homeless," and shook the contents of his small hat into a box titled "CHARITY"...
he couldn't help but look behind, to catch a glance of the girl with the beautiful smile.
but she was gone.
vanished.
the snow erasing any remnants that she may have left.
and the families continued to dance.
to sing.
to laugh.
and the boy with the guitar did the one thing he knew how to do best.
he plucked.
plucc.
YOU ARE READING
Written Guitars
Short Story"these written guitars can only speak for a love too powerful for life". a girl with words meets a boy with music. they created love together.
