Dear

Guitar,

it's been a while since we last communicated. The last time we did, I was practising Sex machineguns on your stoic, hard-bitten and scarred silhoutte.

The thing about you is that, unlike the whiny alder and maple upstarts and the excessive mahogany dumbells, you are no-nonsense, get-down-to-making-sound, without all the excessive bling and tings, and you're not really glamourous or pretty or anything.

But sexy you are. Calm, collected, trustworthy, not making too unnecessary noises (unlike those noisy strats), reliable, very interpretive,

you're like a weighted rock that has been sandwashed, sculpted, shaped and modelled into the Goddess that you are.

You are the very epitome of inner strength and resilience. You could have given up that time when I became morose and upset over myself and took it out on you, but you've come through, and we are best partners again.

To mistake your stoicness and your calm, silent strength for docility and submissiveness will be a slur on your character. How many times your gritty character have sought to guide me on handling you, making a chore out of understanding you totally, bringing me lots of inconveniences. You didn't make things difficult for me, you trained me in handling you, and at the same time, to let my own personality flow into you.

You know what I am capable of, and understand all my weaknesses to such a fine degree. You make me whole while I seek to understand you and myself.

It's been a while since we communed. Now that I have a bit of time on my hands, I shall make it worth our while.



~