/\ July 5, 1961 /\
/\ Wednesday, 2:11 am /\
Song: Tomorrow
By: Paul McCartney

"Good morning."

Paul kneaded his very weary,
bushed looking eyes. He endeavored
to adjust to the scintillating illumination of
the corridor accommodating his apartment,
faintly squinting at my dainty,
diminutive physique.

The oppressing sacks he hauled beneath
his pair of peepers were much heftier than the luggage I had toted along with me.

"What do I owe for this splendid visit at 2 in the morning?"

Even though he appeared almost jaded, his resonance was exuberant and utterly buoyant. I could sense Paul was rapturous to suddenly perceive me at his gelid doorstep. Almost as if he'd been awaiting my presence.

"I can't sleep."

Paul fathomed my proclamation with an effortless bob. He varied his angular figure to the side, motioning me to infiltrate what he denominated home.

"Come in here love."

I informally paced inside, having had been there numerous of times before. The heavenly aroma in his flat was the same as always. Freshly laundered attire with just a nip of exhaust.

"I'm sorry if I woke ye. I just didn't know where to go."

A frisky, winning simper absconded
his rosy ample lips. You could never measure how much I cherished Paul's winsome grins, let alone gauge how much I adored him in general. It was just to grand.

"I've actually been up, unlike that wanker over there."

Paul's lissome forefinger banteringly
motioned to a certain salivating John on the divan, becoming the derivation of our
muffled chortles.

"How come ye aren't sleeping like Johnny?"

His prostrated gaze encountered mine, scarcely capable to even glimpse at his doe eyes for the dusk devoured them unreservedly.

Y'know, stars roused for nightfall are first
ebullient and buoyant, ready to coruscate the darkness away. But, once daybreak takes its toll, each sun becomes somnolent and languid, coveting to ultimately doze off
beyond the clouds.

Why don't they?
Well, each heavenly body fluoresces it's brightest at the brink of dawn, for thats the only opportunity they garner to survey the
suns lustrous gleam over their
venerated Earth.

Those brief moments of the starlight and sunshine radiating over the globe prompted me of a life changing duplet of eyes. The same pair of orbs that exhibited what had been absent in my existence for 18 years.

"Same as ye. Me guitar's been keeping me up."

Paul's lulling utterance liberated me from my absorbing thoughts, which I didn't mind.
The pacifying tone constructed by his larynx wallowed my conscious, mollifying any portion of my physique feeling livid or agonized.

Paul's solicitous gape vacated from
my own, now scrutinizing the two inward arcs on the periphery's of his six stringed instrument.

"Y'know, I've always wanted to play the guitar. I just couldn't ever find the time to learn."

From the heavenly bodies lustrous beam
in his chamber, I could distinctly perceive
the arrant incredulity imbrued onto
his wonted bairn physiognomy.

After a few moments his countenance assuaged. An infinitesimal smirk eluded his adequate lips, dispatching an ardent
sensation along my spine.

"We have time now."

Paul sauntered over to his guitar, clasping
onto its fretted fingerboard and conveying it over to the dyad of lounge chairs neighboring slumbering John. He subsided into one of the snug seats, the wave of his hand beckoning
me to do the same in the other.

"Here."

Paul placidly passed me his prize possession, and when doing so his benign, velvet digits
moderately grazed mine. I rigidly nabbed the
instrument, clemently situating it's
base arch upon my thigh.

I overturned the guitar, appraising the vibrant lad I was left handed like himself. I could evidently view his confounded mien, rectifying his supposition of me being homogeneous to most other right handed individuals.

The chocolate haired boy fluidly clasped my palm in his, locating my lithe fingers on three of the six strings.

"What ye have here is an E major. Strum it a bit if ye'd like."

My gaze eyed down, beholding the locality the pigmented lad had humanely rested my fingers in. As I benignly strummed the ligneous instrument, I could discern Paul's doting goggle on my voluptuous frame, careening
an amatory warmth throughout
my figure.

"Now if ye move all of yer fingers down a string..."

Paul budged each of my willowy digits downward, retaining the locus they where formerly in.

"...it becomes an A minor."

I beamed at the hazel hued boy, thrumming
the recently mastered chords in an arbitrary motif I had conceived out of my dome. My new educator appeared to genuinely relish my almost doltish minuscule ditty, for he
inclined his head along with the
melodious jingle.

Paul sustained obliging me with guitar chords until an abundantly accustomed blatant bellow adjourned our convivial bout.

"Would ye two bloody fairies shut the hell up?!"

John hurled the pillow he'd been slavering on above his head, murmuring what came across as gibberish to Paul and I's ears.

I'd always found it immensely mirthful when
John's mood became tetchy and waspish, for he'd grouse his unique brand of rubbish under his breath for hours, almost as if
he were a tot.

"My apologies yer highness, we didn't mean to wake ye from yer slumber."

My tittering at Paul's importunate apology reverberated through his apartment, along with John's abundantly perceptible eye roll.

"Oh, shut yer glob McCartney!"

Paul's guffawing amalgamated with mine, diverted from John's piqued inclination with our training conclave.

We disregarded Johnny's sanguine desire
for a little shut eye for quite some time, only to discern that not just him, but Paul and I were engulfed with prostration too.

Paul's ardent regard fleetly gyrated to mine, the pouches beneath his hues appearing even more substantial than before. But, the viability in his orbs still existed.

"Tomorrow again?"

The prodigious twinkle I had beamed that dawn was one Paul tenaciously divulged he not once omitted from his mind.

"Tomorrow."