The Adventures of Kudos the Poet - Part VII

Kudos used to play the guitar. He loved to play the guitar, because it made him feel good. He became good at playing the guitar, and he dreamt of writing songs. He wrote songs, some of which were good, some of which made his guitar sing beautifully. He felt moon upon moon of beauty whenever his guitar would sing at night. He was an incarnate guitar that inhabited the musicality of life.

"But that was when I was a boy," Kudos sighed. After leaving his family, Kudos spiraled downward. He sold his guitar for a week's worth of coffee, scrambled eggs, and cinnamon rolls. He lived in a homeless shelter, while he worked at a supermarket. He worked double-shifts as a bag boy at first, then gradually moved up the supermarket hierarchy. He became manager of the local branch after five years. He could not take it anymore after six years.

Yes, Kudos, I am listening to your ballad. I am realizing that guitars are not of this community. Endangered species, the whole band of musical instruments. Fewer and fewer guitars live in the wild. The turbulence of shopping malls frightens them, and I can only spot the stragglers through the use of powerful binoculars. Surviving guitars seldom know melodies nowadays, because we are losing the best of tradition.

"As a child, I was afraid of many things. As a child, I thought that you would no longer become afraid once you reached adulthood. I thought adults had no fears," Kudos the Adult slowly recollected. "As an adult, I know that I was mistaken. Adults have the weight of childhood and adulthood to bear. Adults have seasons upon seasons of scars that have sealed emotions into solemn cubicles of silence. Adults are conscious of loneliness but often lack the imagination of children to escape it. There are fears upon fears, and you do not want to go it alone, but sometimes...sometimes, it happens that you end up in a supermarket at midnight with no one to love you back."

Yes, Kudos, I am afraid as well. Play the guitar for me again, please.