Heartstrings

The aching on my fingertips remind me of you. My guitar’s metal strings, your sonorous touch; both a pain laced with pleasure that I have only grown to crave. I play through the sharpness just like I continue to fall in love with you, a flame concentrated on the tips of my hands and the hole in my chest. The hymn of the guitar calls out to me, unlike the dissonance of my unrequited love. Tension unresolved, I bury myself under the question of harmony. Yet, I cannot stop listening to you. I was taught that time's remedy heals the hands. If only you would strum the strings in my heart to heal me there too. The aching on my fingertips remind me of you.