Saturday, August 17, 2013

Pink Guitar

My girl has a pink guitar
She never plays with it at all
It hangs on the wall, a decoration in fact
And she likes to show it to her friends
I like it okay, she'd say, but I'm not sure it's the one I want
She wishes she had a different, better guitar
Maybe that one she played with once somewhere, sometime else

But if I took her guitar away
It might be a day or two before she'd notice
And then she'd wail and scream and shout
It was the very best guitar in the world, she'd say out loud
It was the perfect one for me
She would be so devastated and sad
How could I not know that it was her favorite thing ever

She'd sulk for weeks, nay months, even years
Into its place on the wall, she'd stare
Keeping its space open just in case it returns
Fabricating memories of how she loved it so
And how, if she had it now, she'd care until the day she dies
She'd dust it and play it every day, at least
Though when it was hers, she barely knew it was there

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