You strum me with the guitar picks I gave you.
I am your audience and instrument.
I know all your favorite songs.
You love the music we’ve made,
Even if you only brought me to a show once.
I hear you’re learning new chords,
But not with me.
Never with me.
You say you don’t want to wear me out,
Change my sound,
Pull my strings too hard,
That I’m too special.
But you always play me again
When you break the strings on
Every new guitar you’ve picked up,
When you realize the acoustics are off.
You tell me you like our sound better
Than any other guitar you’ve played,
But why are you always buying new guitars?
I’ll be here, always,
Propped up against your desk,
Waiting for when you’re ready
To hold me in your arms,
Breathe against my neck,
And tell me that you’ll never trade me in.