The Vintage Fender Telecaster
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Although I grow old, I do not forget. I will not forget those memories. Even though I am fragile and grey, I know that music will never die. My hand slides down the aged fretboard one last time. My soft, fragile fingers passing the twenty-first fret and reaching the peeled sunburst body. Savannah looks so beautiful against the dying fire. The orange glow bringing out the best of the remaining finish. The plain wood underneath looking orange as well, the soft fire reflecting off of the neck lipstick pickup. Those memories will not fade. And I hope that my story will remain in Gloria’s heart and mind forever. And hopefully one day, when she becomes old enough to inherit my Telecaster, it will sound as good to her as it did for me...
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