Short Story: My Unstrung Guitar

This is my first attempt to write a short story:

Few months back I was searching for something in the storeroom. While in my expedition in that dark, fetid, dusty room I found my broken dream; my old unstrung guitar. It was a present from my parents on my eighteenth birthday. It was simple a hollow body acoustic guitar, wooden frame, reddish in colour, black neck along. When I first saw it I was on cloud nine. I felt one step close to accomplish my dream.

I also joined a coaching to expertise in my apprentice. Whenever I went wandering outdoors I had my guitar strapped around my back. However I was unable to continue as I was compelled to focus on my career rather than unavailing dream.

“You should study now, it is paramount. After you get admission in a reputed college you can pursue your dream”.

For entire night while lying on my bed I felt the pain of losing something precious which was partially the reflection on my personality and I was handcuffed.

“It is tough to follow your dream but it is tougher to let it go”.

In morning when I came home from school my guitar was gone. My dream to be musician, to be someone I want to be was gone. 

After so many years when I looked at my guitar, I thought for an instance to play it but I can’t. I can’t go back to those memories, those are pasts and full and melody. I am successful in my career but I am not what I dreamed of.

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