my lover was dusty and a little flat. he sounded great when i played, and i resumed the familiar suzuki method that the signal my ears send my neurons that send my left fingers and right hand thousands of sparkling messages.
but when i listened to myself, i realized i sounded a little flat. practice makes perfect, and love takes practice; i'm glad to be taking up the habit again.
that, and the old thing is just that: old. i need something new. i realize i've neglected this love like the two others before, and this one's been around since i was thirteen. not even fully grown, and my fingers definitely wrap all the way around his body, but my lover somehow still fits. yet he sounds dull and worn, his luster is still childishly shiny, and his hair is starting to shed.
i know i'll never be able to afford to exhange him for another for a while, since my money flow needs to be restricted to fickly frugal during the summer and especially when i move mid-september, and new lovers are costly. but i'll eventually have to say goodbye. in the meantime, he will travel with me; a sad story of an old dog who still beats its tail against walls when it's happy and has that puppy-like grin still affixed to its face, not knowing that it might have to be put up for adoption because the owner could never euthanize it.
that's how much it's breaking my heart.
and this lover of mine is just an object.
(and inanimate only when love is not being made, when sweet music does not sound from hollow bodies.)
-d
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