She walks. The song streams into her earphones. She sees him. He is playing guitar. He often plays guitar. To cheer her. To cheer himself. He sings to her. She thinks it’s love. She hopes it’s love. But she really doesn’t know anymore.
The wind stings her face. A stray tear spills onto her cheek. She has somewhere to be but can’t remember where. He strums the guitar strings, hiding behind a smile. He loved her once. Or so he thought. Or so he hoped. He really doesn’t know anymore.
Her feet carry her forward, set on their destination. If only she could remember where she is headed. The song continues to play. They lay at opposite ends of the couch, their legs just touching. Buried behind books, they quietly read, stopping only to share exciting finds along the way. He reads to her. She reads to him. They seem happy. It sure looks like love. But they just don’t know anymore.
She steps into the lobby. It is familiar. She removes her hat and gloves and turns off the music. The song is over.