I want to tell him, the man with the blue guitar, that I think of him many times daily. I also wonder what he would think of me, first of all, how I would look to him. Too old? Too fat? Too worn? If I passed that test, then I wonder if he is amazing enough to see my heart. Of course, the next questions rush by in a haze, for if he passes those two tests, then I see us there, laying in rumpled blankets, while he plays his guitar for me, and we are laughing.