The Guitar and the Glasses

This is something that I wrote on a piece of paper on Diwali day in 2007. I found it, and decided to put it up here. Read on.....

"The guitar. It's driving me mad. I look at it, and I remember the slender fingers that used to hold it. I look at it, and remember the tips of those fingers caressing my face. The guitar. It's all there. The wood, the finish, the strings, the frets. It's all there, but she isn't. The music from the guitar reminds me of times and songs I played for her. Even the music remains, but she's gone. In a vain attempt to numb the pain, I hug the guitar and go to sleep. It does not help. I wake up with a cut on my forehead, but not feeling the pain; as it is attenuated by the bleeding in my heart. And it's not just that guitar, or guitars in general. It's glasses. Every time I look at a pair of glasses I remember hers. I remember the time I broke it while we were together at a friend's place. I remember those lovely eyes that used to look through them to look at me. The eyes that shed tears that would stain the edges of those glasses, and flow down her cheeks, waiting for me to wipe them away. The tears that somehow called their kin from my eyes to fall with them. Guitars and glasses. They ruin me."

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