2026 / March

New resident of the house. A wooden body that arrived carrying stories that aren’t mine, but now begin to resonate with me. I bought a used guitar, a Memphis AC-39 — super simple, almost humble in its presence, and maybe that’s exactly why it feels so honest. It promises nothing beyond what it can give, and that’s everything I need right now.

There’s something deeply symbolic about starting over with very little. As if the silence of these past years still lingers in the walls, and each note becomes a way of letting fresh air in from the inside out. I went more than three years without playing.

Now, with this guitar in my hands, I feel like I’m not just returning to practice or composition. In some way, I’m learning how to listen again. The raw sound of the strings, the wood vibrating against the body, the small mistakes—everything carries a different weight now.

This instrument, so simple, seems to understand the moment. It doesn’t demand virtuosity. Just presence. Just intention. And maybe that’s how some things are meant to begin again: slowly, almost in silence, like lighting a candle in the dark and quietly watching the light take shape.