I was covered in drying clay after a pottery class when I caught him at his song. He sat in a corner in the sun with a breeze from the bay sliding through his hair. He played guitar.

His shadow changed shape in the sunlight as he leaned into his strings or looked at me. Summer was coming and he was beautiful and I was free. I did not know yet that love could start and love could end and that I would not always be happy; I was still carefree.