The guitar seemed to stare at me in its corner, begging me to come closer.
Quietly I kneeled beside it. I had only planned to look, but I couldn’t control myself any longer – suddenly the guitar was in my hands.
I began to pick and strum – steadily, carefully. Slowly my rhythm became faster and faster. My fingers slid up and down the neck, seemingly by themselves. They had their own mind now, mine was no longer connected. My thoughts float away with the chords as my fingers did their dance.
I closed my eyes, almost able to see the pathway of chords behind me like breadcrumbs. I turned to look forward as a new combination of chords came rushing to me. Quickly they passed. They paid me no mind, too busy heading towards their destination.
The guitar quieted as my fingers slowed. My strumming became more peaceful, less destructively passionate. My eyes opened to see an impressed figure in front of me. “Want me to get its box?” they asked.
I blinked at him. But once I looked down at the beauty in my hands I knew my response. “Of course.”