Guitar

There is the tug of an implacable burning, but I don’t know. I don’t know where to start, or what I'm doing. I grab a book, open it, and cast it away. God, this book was worse than I thought it was; pretentious and vapid. I’m tired of following the same life that thousands are living. I'm tired of seeing, eating, reading, thinking the same things as the world. I’m tired of listening to what they say, what they all say (the same things over and over again). I don’t care. I need to discover. New. I need – something.

You beckon me from a corner, friendly though long ignored. You call to me in the faint whisper of dreams, as I touch your neck and you hum the echo of secrets. My fingers fall clumsily upon your strings, you make a sharp noise in pain. I’m sorry, it has taken so long. I hold you closer, I smooth away the dust left upon you from neglect. I will take care of you now.

It’s alright. There is nothing more that I want in this world than to soothe your small aches, and from you sing melodies of happiness intangible through words and that pervasive melancholy of shadows (we can cry together). With you I will remember an ocean left in a warm embrace of summer; an old house left empty with the porch light on, waiting for someone to come home.