I still have her guitar
The one the church gave her
I started to practice; to learn it’s tune
but when I strummed its brittle strings, her sad voice was all I heard
Her blue-green wrinkled eyes bored through me
Her soft song rang in my ears
I said I needed space, I needed distance from her past
but every time I pick up that old guitar
her silver-grey presence reappeared
What used to be fond memories,
playing in my mind as I held its wooden body close,
transformed into drunken hazes- to a sea of black disguised as blue
……………………………………………………
How can I still practice, still play this guitar
when every time I look at it
I just think of you…
Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 9:48 PM UTC
I still have her guitar
The one the church gave her
I started to practice; to learn it’s tune
but when I strummed its brittle strings, her sad voice was all I heard
Her blue-green wrinkled eyes bored through me
Her soft song rang in my ears
I said I needed space, I needed distance from her past
but every time I pick up that old guitar
her silver-grey presence reappeared
What used to be fond memories,
playing in my mind as I held its wooden body close,
transformed into drunken hazes- to a sea of black disguised as blue
……………………………………………………
How can I still practice, still play this guitar
when every time I look at it
I just think of you…