The blinds are closed, but light still shines through. One bed in the room is neatly made, but the other is messy. There are papers spread atop it and a guitar case, open but empty, is sitting on the floor beside the bed. There is a desk that spreads across the small room, a bookshelf on either side. The right side of the desk is neat, the chair nicely pushed in and every single book in it’s proper place. The left side, however, has pens lacking ink, pencils with snapped tips, and crumpled up papers that failed to reach the recycling box.
Her back is red and her neck is long. She is a gorgeous woman. She sings loudly; beautiful sounds spewing out from her mouth. Six strings race up her neck, vibrating and pulsing; they are her vocal chords. A small hand gently kneads her neck while another softly pulls on her strings; they are her reason to sing. She is nameless, but people call to her. She is faceless, but easily recognized. Intricate tattoos of vines twirl around her face with a silky white dove in the midst of it all. She is an it, and it is a guitar.
Some people love sports. Others love the sciences. But I love music.
I play my guitar and write down jumbled words, hoping that something amazing will come from it. And occasionally, something amazing actually does. I will not lie and say I am a brilliant musician. I will not lie and say all of my songs are masterpieces. But I will say that some songs that I have written mean something, and some songs that I have written make people care.
I will never be a professional musician. It’s not that I don’t have the drive to go out to record company after record company, begging them to listen to a song or two; I do. It’s not because it wouldn’t be phenomenal, because it would be. But it is impractical. To be a professional musician is to be unstable. People will always be hiding around the corner, waiting for you to pass so they can stab you in the back. Contracts always have fine print (usually in .01 font and white ink), and someone will always be trying to take advantage of you. The music industry is a cold and cruel place to be, and I’d rather steer clear. I do not need a million fans, I just need one person to walk away from a song I wrote with something more than what they came with.
Although people die, music never will, and I am proud to be apart of the forever phenomena of beautiful sounds.