The Black Guitar

Sleek and shiny, glossy black, it calls to me from the corner. The curved body seducing me, begging to be cradled in my arms. The strings, tightly coiled and tuned perfectly; promising flawlessness, an unblemished performance. I can’t read the sheet music; I don’t need to. The music comes from deep inside me. Welling up from the deepest part of my soul, manifesting itself in my fingertips. My fingers move quickly, producing an ambrosia for the ears. Then suddenly, I snap back into reality. The music fades, and everything returns to normal. Still, in the back of my mind, I recall that moment of pure joy, where I was unrestrained, free from the rest of the world. I make a silent promise to return soon, and I know it is one that cannot be broken.