playing guitar

All I wanted was a guitar, though frankly I do not know how to use or play one properly, save for some two or three different chords which I have learned lately and had been forgetting many times, I still wanted one badly. I can't seem to get myself absorbed with the playing really, and I did try to play a song once but it went so wrong I'd rather not say. The one that hanged alone behind the glass window, that particular guitar I had been eyeing on for so long now, despite the fact that I can’t recall the name of the store, but it must have been some music store I assume.

I've been walking along our town's main road that particular day, and I must say I can't remember any other day and it made no difference. At any given time of the year, everywhere I look I could always see people playing their own guitar, but I didn't mind them for I knew always that soon, the moment I see the flickering neon lights with letters on it, I just knew that I'd be able to see my beloved guitar hanging behind the glass wall of that store, which name I couldn't quite put.

So I did, and I dint even had time or good purpose to look elsewhere but to look at the guitar, and it was beautiful, and it wasn't mine. Too beautiful in fact that if a fellow town person would make an attempt to approach me and show his guitar with the intention of making me look, not like I don't have one, but make me feel that I don't have one, then those vivid sole instances that I can gather with me and my guitar, no matter how thick such glass of walls might make us seem detached, would prove to provide much lesser pain in me than what most of the town people would assume I'd feel.