He sat on the hood of his car at the end of the day and the beginning of twilight, as the fiery sun set. The car rested silently on the cliff overlooking the restless sea. Propped on his leg was a vintage acoustic guitar, and he sat softly strumming it in deep thought. He lit an electric lamp next to him and softly began to play. The fingers on his left hand seemed to have a mind of their own as they slid up and down the neck of the guitar, pressing lightly against the old steel strings. The song was completely unrecognizable, but it was a sad, slow song. It’s chords flowed together like Apollo himself, the Greek god of music, had created it himself.
After he had played for a while, he began to think about the more depressing aspects of his life. His mind brought him back to the night in his junior year when he had gotten a fateful call. The mother of his girlfriend, her voice unrecognizable from grief, told him a story that would stay with him until the end of his days.
He remembered when he had rushed to the scene of the accident. He remembered when the firemen had used the Jaws of Life to tear off the mangled door and pulled her mangled and broken corpse out of her burning aluminum coffin. When her autopsy had been completed, he learned she had died from blood loss. The main causes of blood loss had been a gash from the rents in the door, a skull fracture, and a series of compound fractures.
Her mother had told him about how a diesel truck had flipped and skidded to a stop on it’s side. She had slammed on her breaks, swerved, and spun out. When her car hit the guardrail, it had careened over the side and rolled down the fifty-meter hill to the jagged rocks below.
If he had been crying before, he was certainly crying now as he remembered her laugh. It rang in his ears, the beautiful sound that never failed to make its appearance after he made a joke. When he thought about their first argument, the tears flowed.
They had screamed at each other, threw insults until he took it too far. She had sat on her bed, and begun to cry. It had been the first time he had ever seen her cry, especially in front of him.
He had begun to cry as well and sat next to her, gathered her in his arms, caressed her cheek as he cried in remorse, and whispered apologies. That day he made a promise to her; he promised never to get that angry with her ever again. And he never did. He remembered how they had kissed after they had stopped crying; how her soft warm lips had pressed tenderly against his as she stroked his neck lovingly. But that then reminded him of their first kiss. How they had tentatively come together, either one afraid of making the wrong move. How after that, it had been a natural occurrence. His tears steadily flowed down his face as the tune reached it’s peak. He remembered the last time they had talked: the  morning of the fatal accident.
“Are you sure?” He looked in her eyes as he inquired with a worried look. “Five hours is a long time to be driving.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll take breaks in between, okay?” She reassured him in that special little way. He could never argue, because it might make him angry. She held him close as he kissed her cheek.
“I love you.” He whispered softly in her ear.
“I love you, too.” She had said lovingly.
Her beauty was a flower blooming in spring; her life the breeze rustling the flower itself. Sadly, the breeze ended too prematurely to see the flower reproduce.