HyaShit

There was once a boy who asked me if I ever thought the sun could turn cold, if I ever missed the freedom of the sand in my toes, if I was alone.

Afraid that I may get caught in his simple questions, I stayed silent, looked back at his staring blue eyes that seemed to be filled  more with curiosity as seconds pass by between the stillness surrounding the both of us. 
Seeming like he noticed how uncomfortable I am, his gaze softened and his drowning eyes became a calm sea. He gave a smile. Not the kind that comforts you nor the kind that makes you want to smile back. Instead, the one he gave me was more of an invitation inside a foreign comfort zone. I found myself suddenly with tears in my eyes.

One at a time they went down. Silent
as the unmoving wind. He didn't assure me that everything would be alright, as if he clearly knows how painful it is, like he was the one in my shoes. He just sat there, beside me. Not saying anything, not lifting a finger. It wasn't much but I knew it was more than enough.
When the tears are all but gone, he spoke gently as if whispering a lullaby.

Out of nowhere, he handed me a guitar, old but well-taken care of. "There's happiness at the end of the strings. Promises, hopes even." 

A grin was on his face as he put  down the instrument atop of my hands.

"You just have to play it."

He stood up, started walking away from where we were. A little more and he stopped. He turned to face me, becoming a silhouette against the setting sun.

"And when you can no longer take the pain, meet me here again, I'll sing for you."

Now the memory still lingered on my fingertips as I slowly strum the strings, humming along the soothing melody my guitar creates.

"And when you find what you longed for, I hope you won't forget me. Because I never found mine." The last words he said as he turned his back away from me and continued creating the distance between us.