Strings of Us

You played the guitar for me,

fingers dancing across strings like a confession,

each note tumbling softly into my chest.

I was used to being the grand gesture,

the one who lit fireworks for love

and stood in the rain with open arms.

But this time,

the melody came from you,

raw and deliberate,

a song I didn't ask for

but craved the moment I heard it.

It felt romantic in a way

that words could never reach,

a language only your strumming could speak.

Now, I wonder,

do your chords fall like this for others?

Do you send songs to every girl

with eyes eager enough to catch them?

Was I a passing harmony,

or something worth composing for?

It doesn’t matter, I suppose.

You’ve chosen silence over sound,

a ghost who lingers only in notifications,

liking my posts,

watching my stories,

never saying a word.

Yet, your music remains,

etched in the quiet of my mind,

a reminder of a time

when you gave something of yourself

so sweetly,

so sincerely,

and I believed it was meant for me.

~RMC