Photo Friday #24
The squeaking sound of the capo clasping onto the fret, the familiar smell of hardwood from its musky interior, the soft pressure of its metallic strings melting onto the tips of my fingers. And then, I play.
Making music is my expression, like an interactive journal. As I hear the sounds produced at my fingertips, it comes out like a voice; it allows me to surface emotions swept to the back of my mind and set them free. It liberates me.