Hayvin
Eachmorningbringsanew token from Alek. Sometimes it’s a gift on my porch. Other times, a handwritten letter or a text confessing another reason he’s fallen for me, always paired with a song to soundtrack my day. I often step outside to a world subtly changed. Grass trimmed, flower beds blooming, the fence mended and shining. Quietly, he restores the pieces of my life I’ve let slip away.
There’s been only brief conversations between us outside of the daily texts or the times I carry a cold beer out to him when he’s working.
That suits me, since his words have carried little weight for me lately.
Alek is taking care of me in the only way he knows I’ll feel it right now. When he speaks to me through text, it’s in a way he’s sure I’ll understand.
Through music.
Lyrics have the power to heal you if you allow their melody to soothe your broken soul.
I let the music mend me, word by word, note by note, slowly stitching my heart back together.
He’s careful to choose songs that will help explain his feelings to me more clearly than any words he’d given me ever could. Eventually, I’ll want to hear them from his mouth, but for now, I’m content with these.
Today, his song choice pulls me into a time machine, my lips curving as Alek whisks me back to the late nineties with Savage Garden’sI Knew I Loved You.
As much as I adore the melody, a bittersweet ache lingers. The lyrics claim he loved me from the very first moment, and that stirs up sadness I can’t quite shake.
Then why? Why did he always act like he didn’t?
Will his words and actions be enough to convince me he truly does?
Earlier, I sat in my writing den, waiting for lyrics to pour out as they always do. Instead, my mind was a silent void, the melodies gone. I wandered outside, hoping the breeze might coax the music back.
It’s a special kind of fear when the one thing you’ve always relied on simply vanishes.
I can’t remember the last time my creativity was this blocked. Not even when Alek broke my heart and I left. Then, the pain became an award-winning song, but now all I feel is numb uncertainty from the silence.
Whenever I reach for my guitar, the chords fall flat and lifeless. There’s no rhythm, no melody. Where my words used to be, I now find only silence.
I nudge the porch swing into motion with my toes, my gaze lingering on the sweaty, shirtless man mowing my lawn, brooding thoughts swirling as I watch him.
Does he really have to flaunt every inch of inked skin? He’s teasing me, and he knows exactly how much those tattoos unravel my resolve.
My tongue darts over my lips as my eyes trace every line and curve of him.
Suddenly aware of my reaction, I scowl and spring to my feet, irritation prickling beneath my skin as frustration battles with my attraction to him.
He must see me marching down the steps because he lets go of the handle, letting the motor die. He pulls his folded shirt from his back pocket, his glistening muscles bunching and rolling, as if they’re taunting me to take a bite.
But I’m not doing it.
I’m not.
Even if my body is being a traitorous little slut for it.
“Vin, is everything okay?” he asks, wiping the sweat from his face with the shirt.
I don’t stop moving until my bare toes are resting against the toes of his shoes.
“You,” I growl, shoving my finger into his chest. “Give them back.”
He wraps his fingers around my wrist, holding me to him. “Give what back?”
“My lyrics. My melody. My damn music.” My voice cracks on the last word, the plea raw in my throat. “Give it back.”
