Jan 14th

 The old, weathered guitar sits in the corner of my room, its faded wood telling stories of countless late-night strums and heartfelt melodies. It belonged to my grandfather, who taught me my first chords and passed down his love for music. Every scratch and dent holds a memory a reminder of his warm laughter and the way music connected us. It’s more than just an instrument; it’s a piece of him that still sings, keeping his spirit alive whenever I play.