I didn't mean for it to turn romantic. I just mentioned that while cleaning I had come across a few of his song lyrics and I thought they were beautiful. We're writers, my darling and I. We're artists. And his words speak deeper to me than any other person I have met. We discussed it shortly and then he went to his room to grab his guitar and old box of poorly inked papers. He came out and asked me to play a song with our record player. The God of Wine. And he began to play and sing. And I sat back with the television off and the woodstove on. I closed my eyes and tapped my foot as he sang me bittersweet love songs. And the hours passed and the darkess over took the sky, yet we still sat. Sifting through memories of music we used to love. He sang to me with a voice he hadn't used in so long. But the melody was still as tranquil as practiced vocals. The night went on into the late hours. Dawn began and we felt our way in the early light to the bedroom where we layed down and slept the day away.
