This guitar was handmade by some guy I met in a field. I bought it from him right then and there. Rash purchases are often followed by remorse, and this case was no exception.
I soon learned that the intonation was off, there were dead spots and buzzes. It had a hard time staying in tune, and then the bridge loosened up and came off. I should have just let it go at that point, but it was a handmade guitar, after all. At that point in my education, I hadn’t learned yet that glue can be trusted, so I re-attached the bridge with glue and a pair of machine screws. It didn’t make the guitar play any better, or any worse.
Little by little, I did let go of my handmade guitar, eventually relegating it to an unheated loft. To my way of thinking, that meant it was no longer a musical instrument; it was just a thing. It languished there for years. Occasionally, I would notice it hanging there and strum it in passing. I hadn’t banished it out of cruelty, so the strings were loose, and it would sing out a low, confused chord. It always had a nice deep voice, which is why I tried so hard to make our relationship work. In the end, though, it just wasn’t possible. This is how it ended. I think it’s better this way.