I can’t really play. Not well, at least. I’ve been at it for three years and I still suck at guitar, I’ve been at piano for about six+ years and I’m exceptionally crap at that,but music is always close to me. My Dad’s had that dusty old guitar in the corner of his study for years, for as long as I can remember and it’s as much a part of my family life as the people in it.
I cannot claim it’s as important as my family members, I don’t believe it is. I couldn’t live if it was all I had left. No, I’m saying it’s a symbol of my family, it’s the background music in this up-down-side-to-side-space-time-continuum elevator of my life. Except that the songs it plays are bloody awesome. Every song in my personal soundtrack is played with that guitar.
And when my Dad is down there, alone, the door shut, I can listen to it.
If nothing but I, was real in this world I perceive, and should it all disappear, those songs and that guitar would remain.
