He hasn’t touched his guitar in a long time. It’s intrinsically linked to drinking. So much so, that the thought of strumming one, putting fingers and thumbs near a fretboard, sends shivers down his spine.
He writes, this is true, but words alone can sometimes lack the excitement that a backbeat and bassline bring to proceedings.
He’s thinking about a band abandoned. His addiction to diction and composition. Melody and lyrics linger. Tips of fingers no longer calloused. Careless with the things he was singing about. Chorus. Pour us another one. Porous. Soaks through the skin, burrowing into your mind before consciousness kicks in. No voice note recordings, just hums the songs until, eventually, they’re gone.
Tomorrow he’ll listen out for another one.
Steven Holding lives, writes and worries somewhere in Northampton in the United Kingdom.
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