I look at him every morning. I admire his body, the smooth curves of his body, his slender neck. I have to touch, I can't help it. Harrison, he doesn't mind. He makes a beautiful noise for me.

That's why I love him, Harrison, my guitar.

What? You thought I was talking about a man? Maybe one day, but not today. No, today I love my instrument. Technically, he's my mom's, but let's not get into that (it just makes what I opened up with just sound that much stranger). I am the one who plays him, he lives at my home. Right now, he's lying on the pool table. Not the proper place for a guitar, I know, but who cares? I don't. Harrison could care less, as long as he's not collecting dust on the floor.

Now, Harrison is not my first guitar. That was Kieth, my Johnson, but things with me and Kieth didn't work out so well, so I gave him to my little sister. He likes being hers. I'm sure she likes it to. We've moved on, we're quite happy. He still lets me play him sometimes. Harrison is my third guitar. My second being an electric, cherry red, named Poprocks, she's a strange one. Harrison is special though. He's electric AND acoustic, a multitasker, I like that.

Why do I love my guitar so much that I name him, give him a personality, could possibly go to Cloverbottom (mental institution) for? I honestly don't know. It could be that piece of yarn tied around the G-string tuning machine because the plastic piece that keeps it from rattling and keeps it turning is broken. It could be how he makes beautiful sounds for me when I pluck the cold metal strings. It could be that Harrison sat there and took my tears. He didn't mind it when the salty-grossness leaking from my eyes landed on his beautiful, dark, shiny wood. He didn't mind that I would play him angrily when I was frustrated. And he didn't mind when I played stupid songs about Houseplants (Houseplant Song by Audio Adrenaline) and Beaner's Wearing Beanies (a completely unfinished song by myself, about my Peruvian friend).

I guess I love him because I love music. I love making music, even if I make it very poorly. Harrison used to belong to my papaw, but he gave it to my mom. Who gave it to me, even though she still claims it's hers. Harrison is my Indiana.

Yes, he's an Indiana. That's why we named him Harrison. You know, Indiana Jones-Harrison Ford? Yeah, you get it. Clever? No, not really, just silly because both my mom and I might have small crushes on Harrison Ford. Or we did. Before he got old and kind of rough looking.

Like I was saying before, Harrison has seen me through a lot. A lot of emotions, a lot of moods, a few friendships, and he was even there for my short stage of senseless depression. He totally didn't mind that I was very emo. He didn't mind that sometimes I would fall asleep playing him, stears staining my cheeks and his body. He's been dependable. Something I wish I could say for all of my friends and family. The worse that can happen with him is that a string might break, or he might just break himself. He won't let me down emotionally.

And I still get to make beautiful music on him.

I wrote a song, it has no words. It's just a simple picking pattern, but it's very beautiful. It sounds pretty on other guitars, but not near as beautiful as on Harrison. But I'm biased, I wrote it on him.

I love Harrison.

I think I always will.