To the Boy Who Has my Guitar:

Hey, Keegan. I’m Riley. The guitar you’re holding used to be mine.

I wanted it for so long. I wanted to be a singer. It seems funny now, to me. I’m best at singing loudly in my room and dancing specifically because no one is watching. The guitar, though. That I wanted.

For Christmas one year, I opened the very gift I had longed for. It came with a little book of extremely basic songs. No chords, some songs were only one note each. I spent the day in my room practicing.

A few years later, I was old enough to start taking lessons at school. I remember exactly what the teacher told me: “That guitar would be small for a second grader.” So we went looking for a new guitar, one that fit properly. This is where you come in. I bought the guitar you’re holding. On it, I learned to play a fantastic rendition of “On Top of Old Smokey,” and The Beatles’ “Let it Be.” I learned some chords. I learned the songs in the instructional books that I sent along with it.

I’m going to be honest with you, I did not stick with it, but I wish I did.

A lot of things changed for me after that, and that guitar stayed in my house for a long, long time. Every year around Thanksgiving, my mother urged us to clean out the house, make room for everything the New Year would bring.

Somewhere down the line, it ended up in your hands.

I don’t know much about you. I know you’ve had a rough year. And I heard you’ve wanted a guitar. When I found out it had gone to someone who needed it as badly as you did, I was overjoyed.

I could not be happier that it is in your hands right now.

All the best,

Riley