I made my living on the streets. Leotards, cowboy boots and picks. You need the guitar case playing money more than me.
Each day was a treasure, a tiny jewel box of moments, a golden chain of events. Sea diamonds and conversations. Making smiles. Giving hugs.
When the gate swung open, the smell of lavender flowed through. The path was wide and easy. Left my guitar behind in the alley for you.
Angels play harps, don’t ya know.
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Writing Prompt 147 , Collage 17