I suspect that if I was taller, I'd get laid more.
Think Basketball: I'd shoot my shot over her friend zone defense and score. Her weak knees would wobble at my every move.
And there’s research to prove it: the female psyche is hard wired to conflate height with power. Leadership. Responsibility. Extra large shoes. As if size mattered more than say, Endurance as a true measure of the lengths I'd go for the people I love.
Still, if I was taller, I'd have an evolutionary edge. I'd play the game like a guitar. Because guitar gets girl, right?
Picture this: me strumming at heart strings under the lights of a coffeehouse stage, a tall post-modern Troubadour with say, an east European or French accent.
A Filipino with a French accent: how baller would that be!
I'd be unstoppable. I’d have fans. Groupies. Her phone number. And the decency of a reply to my text.
I’ll give the crowd what they came to see: the tousled hair and rugged eyes, the unshaven charm that makes her want more by appearing to care less.
Hard to get: that’s what the crowd wants me to play on that guitar I barely know how to use.
(But I’m trying, right?)
yo who is it she's really after, because that vertically privileged guitar hero sounds nothing like me.
I wish I was taller (high chord) so she'd see me. Because I am tired of being turned into a ghost writing songs for an empty room.
Guitar gets girl.
If thats true, I suspect she won't get me because maybe this isnt the sound I'm supposed to make. We'd just be pretending to strike a chord on strings attached to a dissonant tune. We'd play each other out: a one hit wonder on a radio station:
Guitar gets girl.
My nice guy cover falls flat. My Asian appearance falls short of the socio romantic standard she is conditioned to fall for
Guitar gets girl Same song. Play on.
And forget accompaniment (Ditch guitar)
All I need is a pen to write lyrics for my new single.
I’ll start a one-man indie band and swoon in solitude over who I sound like on my own. (Strum Flourish)
When we're together It's like escaping to a magical land Locked in a stuffy room Our desires reigned recklessly free Keeping away the harsh realities of our lives Passionately intertwined as one In each others own madness
Your fingers are minx like Dancing across the fretboard with thoughtless grace Strumming your thoughts through our kisses With a sharp twinkle in those quiet brown eyes Every song feels like reliving an old memory One you plucked fresh from my soul
I love the way cigarettes rest on your lips A classic addition some would say But in it I see the self made man you are The way your fingers elegantly roll tobacco Baffles my clumsy mind
A sight beyond sight Forever watching the stars, Fall from the sky Beyond a galaxy too immense to describe The lights traveling thousands of Light years Seemingly instantaneously
A love beyond love Caring for one another despite time, Space, distance and age. They stand as one, hand in hand, Two wandering spirits traveling together
A friendship beyond Even my own exorbitant expectations With these figments of my imagination Manifested into my nerdy possessions And my 6 stringed expression machines However, attachment with material things is not to be taken lightly...
A pretty girl sits down at a patio table across from me. She takes an acoustic guitar out of her leather purse. I’m drinking coffee grounded from Carver Stories With one hand, she tunes the guitar, and with the other she strums the strings with a beating heart.
I feel an emptiness, deep from within my chest, that is like a ceramic jar missing its precious soil. The lyrics to her songs come from a radio station on the moon.
The one that plays music made out of empty friends and unplanned successes. I hum along to the pauses between her words and clap to the punctuation marks, constraining her lovely voice.
She sounds like my future. She sounds like a songbird. She sounds like running your fingers through a round, bald head. The girl looks up from her guitar and smiles at me, as if I am her second boyfriend.
The same one who she marries out of necessity, out of income, out of security. I offer her a piece of gum Etched with masculinity.
She takes a bite. Then spits it out at once. I laugh. She laughs. And it’s not the kind of laugh that is forced, or given out of sympathy.
It’s the kind of laugh that says: “Hey I see you and I know, I miss the stranger in your smile. And the kick drum in your heart. And all love that I have never received, due to my stubbornness.”
I blinked. And the girl transformed into a mirror. And I changed into the girl. And then the mirror became the girl. And the girl became me.
Then we looked into each other’s eyes, and made love under the spell of a song, the same one she played in the beginning, with music notes that sounded like the anguished cries that come from my heart, the same heart that she uses to play her guitar.
I saw a sign that said, I spent all my money on scotch, women and guitars. The rest I just wasted My life will probably be the same way Except knowing my luck I'll **** around and have the strings misplaced
Men never really grow up our toys just get more expensive As a guy I can attest to this I went from being content with action figures Legos and my N64 To guitars cars and rollerblading on the Riverwalk under the bridges
It's funny how that happens How materialism changes how we see the world But pursuing all the finer things Wanting champagne wishes and caviar dreams Makes you forget the madness that truly comprises the earth
she always crossed the street so suddenly, she would stand right on the curb as cars flew past her. she wanted to drop out of high school. run away, and just live her ******* life. she hated being tied down to something or someone. she taught me life shouldn’t be taken so seriously and to live in the moment more often. she was this mysterious, fearless girl who wanted nothing more than to figure out this huge ****** up world. h.d.
i wrote this while listening to her play colors by halsey on the guitar
I touched the edge of your fingers, feeling the rough calluses against your skin Play me a tune by Muse between the strings of your guitar Light me a smoke and I could return the favor with a gentle kiss As the moon got brighter and the sky got darker the kisses were rough like the calluses on your finger tips We stayed up listening to every band made possible 32,000 songs barely made it through fifty before we left each other breathless and fulfilled as are fingers slid past one another leaving the last touch on your calloused guitar finger tips...