“What is that?” I asked.
“It’s part of sonata number eight by Beethoven.” Angel said in a dreamy voice, “It’s for piano, but I figured it out for guitar.”
“It’s sweet and sad.” I said, “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” Angel said as she kept playing it, her fingers light on the strings, weaving the notes together so it sounded like more than one person playing.
“Music is life, Jackson.” she said softly, “It’s sweet and it’s sad, and that’s what makes them both beautiful.”
I wanted to go to her and hold her because I loved her and she helped me see things differently, but instead I set down my book and closed my eyes and listened to the music she conjured from her small guitar and marvelled that she was my girl and wondered what I had done to deserve her.
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