The plane lands.
We’re driving by the windows.
He said the shirt would be an impossibly bright neon red.
He’d stand out.
I hadn’t yet looked when I found him in the crowd.
There was no resisting the smile that overtook me.
Leaving the plane I began to hear a familiar melody.
One that played faint in the background of when we met.
Like a bad romance movie he stood there, behind his guitar and cheesy grin.
By Amber Black