There was this girl. She listened only to music with guitars in it. She despised socks with seams. If seams touched her toes, she’d walk barefoot for hours to cleanse her feet of the memory.
She fell in love with a boy who played the accordion. He found his accordion in an abandoned church. The boy and his accordion both had dusty personalities. They both smelled like hosed-down summer concrete.
The girl loved this boy very much.
One day, they were talking about gypsies. It’s the only music they could appreciate together. Then the boy said something in French. He said:
“On n’aime que ce qu’on ne possède pas tout entier.”
The girl stood up and kissed the boy. She patted his dusty accordion. Then she walked away.
She didn’t understand. She was happy. She loved him. And she knew it was time to find a guitar player.