You have pushed me to breaking, instrument of mine. You have made me desire nothing less than to smash your wooden body against the wall and never think about you again. You have lead me on the most arduous of journeys. You make me feel inferior, you make my fingers bleed, and I loathe you; but I will never quit you.
Your siren song lures me back, every time I second guess you, to a paradise of all things creative; a place where, with only you and my own hands, I can recreate the finest of the world's creations. I can craft melodies that ring and fade, leaving traces of their sweetness in the air where they briefly lingered. Though your difficulty and your mystery infuriate me to no end, though you leave me second guessing myself at every turn, though I have been thoroughly maddened by you more times over than I wish to count, I will always come back to you. I will come back for every moment of achievement you have to offer me, I will come back because you, guitar, are the gatekeeper to a musical Garden of Eden that I wouldn't ever have discovered, had I not picked you up.