She sits lonely and forlorn in the back of the closet. I used to call her Whitney. I don't remember why. Every once in a while she gets played with by one of the kids, but generally she sits in her case and dreams of singing. I feel bad. I've neglected her and replaced her with things that don't require so much time and patience. I sometimes hear her calling to me when the radio is playing one of our songs. Someday, I promise her, I will have time. Time to sit down and get to know her a little better. Time to run my hands over her smooth, polished wood and tune her copper strings. I remember the first time I heard her mellow voice. And I remember the pain my fingertips endured as I practiced and practiced on her. I thought she'd be a perfect instrument for me - someone to sing with, someone to entertain with, someone to write with. But as it turns out, she's just an old guitar and I'm just not a musician!
This post was for Mama Kat's writer's workshop. I chose prompt #3 How long until you realized you had no time or patience for this: Tell the story (true or fiction) of trying to learn a new talent or hobby that you only pursued briefly.