The Kilted One

[tinhuvielartanis]

As I listen to the magickal music of that day, I think of him and how his deft hands ran so smoothly over the surfaces of his musical instruments, how he could move his fingers independently of the others. He showed me the exercises he did to make that happen. I was agog at his talent and his soft-spoken voice, when he did speak. He was a mountain of a man, hair all in the right places, with a long mane to top it off. Kilted, he looked the role of a Highlander, and I was enamoured even more deeply than I though I could be. I would be so happy if I could wrest these memories from my mind and be done with the mourning over not being a part of his life. To know you're not needed or wanted, to be told that, is a blow to your spirit. It's a wound that never quite heals...an emotional staph infection.