There was that smile, that Mona Lisa thing but with dancing eyes, 100 watts full on, and a lot more joy. There it was. He had finally remembered to ask her what she thought of the demo he had given her before the last tour.
She had lit up, he nearly fell down.
A while back he had asked if he could give her flowers, sometimes. She had said no. But still, it felt like a good idea, sometimes. Not like a noun, or a claim, but sometimes a good idea, simply because of how she was who she was.
He thought women dancing were one of God’s great gifts to men. Her smile was one of God’s great gifts to him. He had to earn each one.
Around the block he had been, more than once. He wasn’t what he thought he should be. Wouldn’t it be something to be someone she was proud to know? That would make him a better man, wouldn’t it. Then there was that smile.
She had said she loved the stories. That she would like to hear one with some banjo behind it. He said he hadn’t been able to figure that one out. Later he had called with an idea.
It didn’t rhyme, but neither did the banjo, most of the time.
Asymmetrical thoughts about life, about love, and dreams attained by the denizens of this small ball floating through space. Stories of the gifted and the damned, winning.
He asked if she had changed her hair. She said yes. He said it was pretty.
And there was that smile again!
He guessed there were a lot of different kinds of flowers!