E.

I fell in love with his hands. And when he played his guitar, I was so jealous of the strings he was playing with. Because when he made music, noone could hear it and not turn around to see who's marvelous fingers where making that sound. I wanted to hold his hands forever, not only because I loved him, but also because they were big, strong, manly and vert sweet with short enough nails.  I wanted his hands to touch me like they played with his guitar, and my screams and sighs would be the music that he makes. There was one sure thing,  he was an artist, no matter what he touched.