Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to Robert Rodriguez.
i.
just in case
he says as he cradles the guitar case to his chest, but—
Fuck it.
He knows he'll need those guns again someday.
He knows.
ii.
honey, he is a bad man
And then she was in his arms, smoky warm and tasting like summers past. He gave her everything that night, and he never regretted it, not any of it.
Not even when he lay in the dust beside her and waited to die.
iii.
made that for you
The guitar is simple. The music it makes stirs his soul. But like all things of beauty in this world, he will have to break it.
That is his way.
He kisses the neck, while he holds the body close to his chest.
And he asks God to forgive him, one more time.
iv.
are you still standing?
Yes.
He has spent too long on his knees. Praying. Waiting. Yearning.
This is not what Sands wants, but he doesn't care. He is tired of doing what everyone expects of him. He is going to start living his life again.
He just has to take it back, first.
v.
sons of mexico, sir
The sun scorches the back of his neck as he walks along the highway. Shimmering waves rise from the pavement like music. They wash over him and he lifts his face to their heat. He is grateful to be alive.
He remembers learning to play again, her fingers wrapped around his, guiding him onward through the pain.
He still remembers those lessons.
He walks.
vi.
que quieres en la vida?
Someday, he'll know the answer.
He'll already be there.
END