The Bride

Out of all the guitars on that wall, there was one that stood out from the rest. It was a smaller body with a fine white lacquer and golden inlay. I was drawn to it and when I picked it up to play, I fancied it to be called ‘The Bride’.

The irony of which was lost on me until I looked out the window across the street to the store selling those big white dresses. Staring dreamily up was a woman and her two daughters. They discussed amongst themselves, perfecting plans and images of their own pristine pearls and golden bells.

I looked down to the beautiful guitar in my hands, it’s petite body felt good in my small arms and it’s slender neck was easy on my tiny tendrils. I played a pretty chord, looked at those girls and thought in the same breath about how little and how far we’ve come.