November 10th

Dear Stones,

I came home from school today and your guitar was just sitting on my bed. I knew my mom was going to pick it up from your mom at some point, but I wasn’t really expecting it to … I don’t know … bother me this much.

I walked in and it was just sitting there. Like some foreign object that didn’t belong. On my bed! She could have put it anywhere else.

I dropped my backpack and walked around it like there was some force field surrounding it.

I know it’s just a guitar—but it’s not “just” a guitar—it’s your guitar. It’s you. It’s us. It’s everything.

I couldn’t open it. Not yet. I didn’t even want to touch it.

I finally put it in the corner of my room. It’s there now.

I’m looking at it.

Sticks