"Damn this cheap guitar!" I reassured myself after fumbling again with a simple chord progression from an early 90's song from a band named after some spices... I've been at it for hours on end since I bought this guitar at a mall sale. My fingers were tender and I was really frustrated. I was blaming the innocent instrument, betraying what I always believed that making a thing of beauty lies on the craftsman and not his tools. Out of nowhere, I felt a wave of grief... like somebody dear to me has died long ago and I've only come to realize at that moment. Holding back the tears was futile. I can no longer play.
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