You didn’t pick up a guitar because it was cute.
You picked it up because nothing else made sense.
Because you needed a weapon.
Because screaming wasn’t loud enough.
Now you pick it up to chase algorithms.
You rehearse your lighting before your riffs.
You post one clean take and delete the rest
Not because they sucked,
but because your face looked weird.
Used to be: you played because you had to.
Now? You play because you think you should.
It used to be about danger, about mess, about something raw and half-wrong.
Now it’s soft filters and “vibe.”
You used to bleed into the fretboard.
Now you color-match your pedalboard to your bedroom.
This isn’t bitterness.
This is mourning.
The guitar isn’t dead.
But it sure as hell doesn’t smell like sweat anymore.