What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we...– T.S. Eliot, The Cocktail Party (via bbook)
As I sit here during another bout of insomnia, Nirvana blasting through my iPod, I can’t stop thinking about my beautiful Fender Strat. My parent’s bought it for me for my birthday at 12 or 13; I spent many wonderful day’s and nights banging around on it. I recently sold it because it was doing nothing but collecting dust amongst the piles of storage and never in my life have I...