His hands sweep over the strings smoothly as I look on from my spot on the couch. The blue guitar sits perfectly in his lap and he pulls it in snuggly hugging it closely.
His eyes close and he feels the music he sings.
I watch his movements.
There are so many times I want him to put that thing away and stop playing. So many times I want to hear other things, concentrate, hear silence, not listen, shhh quiet.
I call to him to stop the music, ask him to put it down, glare at him when he picks it up, and remind him that there’s other things to do.
But not now.
He is content.
He is happy.
There in this moment with his hands wrapped around his guitar he is whole.
Humming songs to the sounds of his acoustic, tapping out a beat with his foot, smiling when he’s got it right.
He’s swimming with musical joy.
Finding the words that melt with his music, his fingers picking at the strings, our daughter dancing circles to his songs.
The sounds fill the space as he sways to the sounds he makes.
Here he is comfortable.
In this cloud of music he’s created.
So instead of asking for him to stop, sighing loudly, or walking from the room I sit and listen, take in the sounds that he makes, and appreciate his gift.
Letting the notes sink in and surround me.
He is good.
And he should know it.