I finally met you,
a few months back.
After constantly asking,
and endless waiting,
I met you.
The thing I wanted most in life.
It was wrong and selfish of me,
even to just ask.
But there you were,
sitting,
waiting,
looking lonely and sad.
I felt like you were there for me.
And now you are.
You missed your friend.
The man who used to sing along with you,
to his daughters and wife.
You missed the guy who talked to you
when he was feeling sad.
This man you loved.
But he disappeared.
Never to be seen again,
by you,
his friend,
or by his daughter,
and his wife.
He.
Died.
And now,
the only memory of him is in you.
His memory lingers,
like how carvings stay in trees.
And I’m scared,
that I will never be enough,
that I will never compare to the great man,
who played this guitar.
I am scared to fail the memory,
of a man I never got to meet.
Your smell of wood,
aging every second.
Your gentle strings.
The sound of you so beautiful,
It always makes me cry.
The connection we hold,
I hope you had with him.
How you’re always there,
waiting,
to cheer me up.
The adventures we’ve had,
playing from our hearts,
to sitting down to talk,
of our feelings,
and our lives.
But when I see you,
I’m still scared,
Though this relationship has grown.
I’m afraid.
Cause I know,
I’ll never be worthy to play you.