You Were Right, Love!

How true...you said once that everything would just collect dust...and you couldn't be more right...
Holding my lovely Spanish guitar. That my father silently suffered to pay. I find it dusty. It must be from all the time it had spent in the corner, since you left.
It's such a beautiful instrument, I was incredibly passionate about it...but I quit classes, for there was no longer a reason or rhythm any longer.
Every string plays an awkward tune...sour notes....just like the bitterness you've left in me.
What irony!
I'm just like this guitar...in the corner, dusty, ignored, cast aside and forgotten. I wonder if it would ever play those passionate tunes ever again...