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“You can bring those here.” He released my hair and smoothed it down my back. “I want you to bring everything here that means something to you.”
“They’ll take up a lot of space.”
“Good. There’s too much emptiness here without you.”
“It seems nicely appointed to me.”
“It’s just things. Things without any emotional attachment don’t mean anything. It’s the people you love in your life that give it meaning.”
“I agree completely.” I pressed a kiss to his firm lips. “I missed you.”
“And I missed you, Addy. So much.”
“Who did you talk to?” I asked.
“No one. You’re the only one I ever felt comfortable sharing deep truths with.”
“Oh.” My eyes rounded. “Wow.”
“It was a wow for me the day you came along.”
“For me too, Barry.”
“It’s not good keeping feelings bottled up inside.” His tone turned reflective. “I’m glad you found an outlet. My feelings didn’t come out in a way where I could fully process them until I rediscovered music again. Playing the guitar or the piano, composing music, writing lyrics. That’s cathartic for me, like your letters.”
“When did you start playing the guitar?” I asked.
“When you moved in with Martin,” he said softly. “I believed if I could express to you how I felt through music that you would understand. That I would finally be able to reach you. That you would choose me. A song I wrote and played was on the MP3 player that I gave you for your birthday.”
“I wish I would have known.” I’d always wanted an MP3 player back then, and he knew me. Knew how important music was to me. His song might have changed everything. “I wish I could have heard it.”
“You can hear it now.” He threw back the covers and switched on the light. “Since you’re not sleeping, I might as well serenade you like I wanted to back then.”
“Barry,” I said. Blinking into the brightness, I watched him grab the guitar from its stand beside his chair. “It’s late. You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s never too late to get right what you got wrong.”
He sat at the edge of his chair and balanced the body of his beautiful guitar in his lap. His loosened hair cascading forward, he plucked a few strings, and my soul—the soul he owned—came alive like my body did when he touched me.
I sat up in bed, my skin crackling with excitement as he adjusted the tuning.
“It’s called ‘My Butterfly.’ It was my first big hit. It’s for you,con bu?m c?a tôi.”
His eyes locked on mine, he strummed beautiful chords that made my body, mind, and soul vibrate at the perfect frequency. The folded-in parts of me that used to find solace and escape in music unfurled once again. The past became the present, a new present.
The walls I’d built to protect myself fell. I didn’t need them anymore.
With room to stretch and grow, I needed to move, so I threw my legs over the side of the bed. He began to sing. His voice was rich and melodic with a meaningful rasp that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck and my arms stand on end.
My feet found his rhythm, and I floated around the room. I couldn’t not move with words like these. I couldn’t not respond with his voice strumming the strings of my heart.
My soul couldn’t remain my soul. It was our soul, mine the other half of his.
You showed me love
You made it real
You gave me warmth
