An Album Without Songs

January 19, 2018
By aedan7v BRONZE, Wilmington, Massachusetts
aedan7v BRONZE, Wilmington, Massachusetts
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

When you decide to pick up a guitar, you decide to become one with the instrument. You are connected like Siamese twins and you don’t even know it.  The guitar leaves an impression on you, but you leave an even bigger impression on it.  The spots on the body of the instrument are faded and discolored.  You position yourself against the guitar and you fit into the spots like a puzzle piece. The frets become flattened and the strings are greasy and dirty by the doing of your left hand.  Your favorite pick is smudged and sanded down. 
In return, the paint from your pick has rubbed off on your index finger and thumb.  Your fingertips are calloused and seasoned.  They don’t bleed anymore.  Your hands work with the muscles in your arm like a well-oiled machine thanks to the training your guitar has granted you. 
You reach a guitarist’s plateau for a long time, but it’s not long before your life passes you by, and your guitar passes its prime.  Your fingers are soft again and your arms don’t have the endurance to remain in position.  The fretboards of the guitar soften to cushion your brittle fingers and the firm wood body, although now warped and cracking, holds up your tired arms.  The once full, vibrant ringing of you and your guitar is now a worn down buzz.  Neil Young always told you, “It’s better to burn out than it is to rust,” but you still remember the journey that you trekked and all of the memories made.  He was wrong.  You used to look back on the good times and see yourself as a lonely soul, but you were never alone.


The author's comments:

This vignette is a part of a collection written for an English assignment.


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