Some say that you’re hollow. That you’re nothing more than a man made shell of wood and wires thrown together by machines and unknown faces miles away from us. That you’re a thing, indifferent to whatever comes your way, and it’s not worth wondering how you’re holding up. But we both know that’s not true.

We both know that there are so many things to love about you.

It starts with your beautiful body, curved to perfection. Firm and smooth, ready for action. Present in your place, sitting on your stand, just waiting for someone to come along and spend some time with you. You don’t care if it’s for five minutes or an hour. You spread so much joy just with one glance, one pluck against your frets, one moment of musical pleasure.

You say so much, whether silent or soundful, for there are so many memories laid with your inlays.

The salty smell of the ocean as you strummed “Hotel California.”

The whiff of cigarettes after playing Billy Joel’s hit in bars.

The crackle of campfires accompanying your rousing round of “Wagon Wheel.”

But above all else, it’s your neck I love the most. Your dark, strong neck that supports your strings. Never wavering, holding firm each time my fingers press against you, cool to the touch. The neck that never disappoints, that’s as constant as the music you’ve made. The neck that when I hugged it, made me feel his presence, although he would never play you again.

I think about the times he picked you up, even when his hands were weak and aching. The times you made him smile and hope for better days, even when the pills had drained him of his spirit. The times he shared you with me, teaching me the songs he loved, helping me play the ones I didn’t know, and harmonising with my voice. I think about the love you held for him and wonder, can you spare that love for me?

Can you be the thing that makes me smile, even when all I want to do is cry? Can you be the thing that gives me strength, even as I feel the ground slipping out from under me? Can you be the thing that lets me know he’s still here, even when it feels like he’s a world away?

I ask these questions, but I know the answers. I know there is no need to doubt.

Like a father’s love, you will be there. Just like he was there for me.

I love you, dear guitar.