Use me, play my heartstrings like they are that guitar you got in middle school and forgot about. I’m just as forgettable. Keep me in your closet until you find the urge to clean your space and take me out to reminisce, then put me back, because I am too hard to let go, but too hard to look at because we never amounted to anything.
If you hold me long enough, maybe the desire you once had would reignite and we could learn the love songs that you wanted to sing. But you don’t hold me for long, you pluck at my strings a few times out of nostalgia, and place me back into hiding.