I brought my guitar home from Seattle, thinking that I would have plenty of time to sit down, play it, and maybe write a few songs.
I didn’t take it out of its case until today, which means it sat in my room for three weeks before I bothered to play it. I don’t understand why I allowed that to happen, since playing music is one of the most important balances in my life. I constantly listen to music, but a huge part of me loves creating my own.
If I’m having a bad day, I can sit down on the piano and be calm within minutes. If I need to release pent up emotions I can write a fitting song on the guitar.
I fully understand the importance of music therapy.
When I first pulled my guitar out, I brushed it off (a sign I hadn’t played it in far too long), and I sat upon my bed and ran my fingers across the strings.
Only to be greeted by the horrible noise of 6 strings playing all of the wrong notes.
I quickly tuned it, then played Blackbird by the Beatles, one of my favorite songs.
I let out a breath. I missed this so much, why didn’t I bother to pick it up earlier?
I let my fingers take control, and before I knew it I had made up half a song. None of it was written down of course, but it had been waiting all this time to be let out.
If I remember correctly it had something to do with bringing the sun back to Seattle.
Fitting for a Colorado girl.