Strumming strings. Fingers falling perfectly on the smooth wood forming the all to familiar arrangement. Sweet voices mingling with the melodies. All of these things pleased me as I watched in amazement.
I was in my room . Then, my classmates sang with the magical instrument . The distinct sound they made lured me to the clutches of the guitar. Pretty soon, I was strumming and singing with bruised fingers and high spirits.My sister was patient enough to teach me the ways of this stringed instrument. And from experience, I can say that it was damn hard. Deep scars were evident and scattered about my soft, baby hands.Patience was really a big problem since I would always pout and cry in frustration. But that did not stop me.
All day, the guitar was found in my eager hands. I just can’t get enough of the way I mimic the sounds made by my favorite artists. I was flabbergasted by the way my fingers automatically found their places at the carved piece of wood. My life was filled with music as I continued to strum and strum through life.
Through sunrise and sunset, I’ll keep singing and playing the guitar. I doubt I’ll ever stop. There’s just something about way my fingers hit the strings that touches the innermost of my being. It seems like the waves of sound speak directly into my heart.
For guitar lovers everywhere, what do you think? What is this incredible link I feel between the guitar and me?
