I was plucking my heart out at the concert tonight with the band, fingers dancing over the bass strings ever-so-skillfully. Nearly like magic, sweaty and electric, I punched out the last notes of our final song. So pent up and exhausted, I just needed to blow off some steam. I said farewell to the guys and drove home, back to you and our house. Soon, I'm parked in the garage, the unlocking of the door surely signaling to you that I'm back. I can almost imagine the smile that's probably spreading across your face right now. I waltz into the house, calling out your name, needing to cool down from the night's exertions. Well, maybe not just cooling down. But we'll figure that part out together. The house smells familiar - like your cologne and whatever you had for dinner. It's grounding after the chaos of the venue, a reminder of why I do this. The stage might give me adrenaline, but you give me something more lasting. I lean against the doorframe, watching you, already feeling some of that tension melt away just at the sight of you.