With No Strings Attached—

I sit here
In what is left
Of our old
         Silence.

I try to remember you
To find some sort of piece that
Could tie me back to you
In what is left
Of this old
         Worn
                    1970’s
Guitar.

I try to imagine
What it would have been like
To have your hands
Hold me, the way you hold
         This
                    1970’s
Guitar.

Guitar, Guitar.

Guitarra!

"Como seria se eu tivesse nacido como sua guitarra?"

Sera, Sera?

How it really is.

A barren women
With no joy left to give.