This isn’t to any particular guitar.

I’ve had a few guitars over the years. Interestingly, I’ve never actually paid money and bought one. I’ve been given a few, I’ve borrowed a few for an extended period of time, and I’ve even found one or two, over the years. (In rubbish dumps- long story, involving my dad’s line of work.) I’ve sold some, given away some, gotten rid of some. I don’t even know how many “some” is anymore.

Imagine if a letter were written “Dear Girl”, but referencing many girls- but maybe not all girls- I don’t want to be so presumptuous. I wouldn’t write “Dear Girls”, that’s almost kind of patronizing. So it’s “Dear Girl”, and hopefully you know who you are, and if it looks and feels like its written to you, then it is. If it doesn’t, then it isn’t. That works, no? Same for guitars. I guess.

Dear Guitar. Thank you. We have spent many, many hours together. Probably not as many as I’ve spent with books, or video games, but the time we’ve spent together, honestly, is very special to my heart. You’ve probably seen me cry more than books or video games, too. Books get read, and video games get played, but you somehow impress on me something deeper. You draw something from within me, outwards. You cut my fingers and you

I think of the times where I’ve removed your strings, scrubbed away your dust and dirt (most of which comes from the skin cells from my own grubby fingers).

I’ve never really understood you, I won’t pretend that I do. I’ve never really gotten as close to you as I would have liked to. I imagine that if we never played each other again, you would be on my mind as I lie on my deathbed. I would think of how much more we could have explored. How much more joy we could have created together.

You’ve helped me through some really hard times. And I owe you for that. I more myself more of you. (Actually, it’s hard for me to keep up with this personification thing, because at the end of the day you’re a fucking wooden box with strings tied to it, and you don’t actually need anything, let alone anything from me. So I look like a selfish prick for talking about how I need you. Or a loser. Or a weirdo. But yes, I am all of those things.)

Well actually, I’d like to think I’m talking to something more than a wooden box with strings. I’d like to think that you need me just as much as I need you. After all, isn’t an object defined by its purpose? To a non-musician, to someone who’s never seen you before, you might look like ornamentation, or maybe even a weapon to bash people over the head with. A chair isn’t a chair until someone decides it’s worth sitting on. (This seems counter-intuitive for something that’s very obviously designed to be sat on, but think of something that’s multi-purposed, like say, a tree stump. You could use it as a table OR a chair. What is it? It depends on what you make of it.)

There you go. I give you your guitar-ness by playing you as a musical instrument. Not that you ever cared. You’re just sitting around there by your lonesome. But I’d like to pretend that guitars are happier making music than sitting around gathering dust.

Anyway I’m kind of losing steam here. The point is that you matter to me, a lot more than I realize on a daily basis. Thank you for being a part of my life, thank you for all that you’ve done for me, and I really look forward to spending many more years with you. Hopefully I’ll get better at this whole music thing. I’d really, really like to.

Cheers,
Visa