Hanging in a corner, the whisper lingers, the echo of a song, the flame that endures.
A memory impregnated in the notes of the soul, a poem tangled in the threads of calm.
The guitar in its silence longs to be played, longs for someone to release it from its resigned stillness.
The waiting strings, taut and vibrating, dream of melodies, thrilling melodies.
She clings to the half-light, where dreams become yes, where words flow and slide to the end, she waits for the one who comes and touches her heart with fingers full of passion and perfection.
The notes soar in unparalleled flight, gliding through the air, unafraid of their end, the whispered poem entwines with the music, creating a symphony of love and epic.
Time fades away in that forgotten corner, and the soul of the guitar finds its longed-for being, for with each chord, the heart awakens and the poem in the air, its sweet melody inserts.
Hanging in a corner, the memory waits patiently for someone to listen to its story, to be its present recipient, and in that magical instant, the worlds merge into one, the guitar sings, the poet sings, and the heart becomes one.