Weeping Guitar

I'm crying, but there's no tears.

A dry spell.

An emptiness. Too empty to even cry.

My guitar is sitting in the corner, waiting to be played.

It once had meaning and purpose, pouring out my emotions in the form of music. But now it sits.

Empty. Hollow.

As do I.



I can relate to my guitar...

full of potential, full of passion, full of soul.

But instead, it sits. I allow it to sit in a corner. Untouched, unused, unloved.

My guitar looks back at me, feeling the same way I do, and softly sings... "she's so full of potential, full of passion, full of soul. Why does she sit alone in that corner, allowing herself to be untouched, unused, unloved?"

Together we would be full of life.

But instead, we sit in our corners and give each other an occasional glance, an occasional thought, and sometimes an occasional strum.

I've forgotten the chords I used to play, the strings I used to pick, the songs I used to write.

If I sit long enough, I forget the sound it makes and the tune of its voice.

Much like my guitar, I feel I have lost my voice.

Much like my guitar, I am waiting.

...To be touched, to be used, to be loved...

and to live the life I was meant to live.