The tuning pegs of the guitar
held the strings together
united
and
unmoving.

Whether it was a conscious decision
or not, I strung it
gently
and
carefully.

When my nimble fingers plucked
the vibrated strings, I
resurfaced
a
memory.

Whether it was a conscious decision
or not, I strung it
defeated
and
crushed.

And the strings once joining into
sweet rhythm turned
sour
and
dry.

The me, who wished for company,
and the you, who wished for
individuality
and
idiosyncrasy;

we were never meant
for music of
tranquility
and
harmony.