I remember the first time I've ever plucked a string on a guitar or the feeling of the string. It's almost like seeing your mom's face for the first time... Or stubbing your toe, I will never forget that feeling... I've always liked music, not just because it's awesome, I like the emotion in some songs, the noises of the drums or electric guitar or people screaming... Anyways my mom took me into a Pickers music shop and she let me pluck a guitar string. It was such fun, but we couldn't afford it, and she thought I would break it but let's pretend that part never happened, I was like four...
Eleven years later and I like the same music but can wear the clothes I want to, lucky me, although I do wish my mom was still around to tell me I couldn't pierce my ears for the one-millionth time or I couldn't go to a Black Veil Brides concert in a school night even though I still would rebel...all I have is my father. Have you guys ever seen the thing that said anyone can be a father but the only one can only be so special to be called a dad, well that's why I call him father if you were wondering... I'm not going to go into detail about why also known as the author of this story does not want to go into detail because she has a shitty dad herself... (Sorry I had to)
