My bass guitar was broken. I knew that but I couldn't quite define what exactly was wrong with it. The neck was too short. Like it was broken and then roughly been put back together with most of the middle part missing. So the neck was too short. I could see that, but I couldn't realize the problem in it. It seemed natural. It must be something else wrong with it.
My friends tried to persuade me
that there's nothing wrong with the bass. It's just in my mind. I
didn't lend it to the squat guys so that they can practice and they
mistreated it. They didn't disrespect my offer and my willing
sacrifice. At the back of my mind there was always the idea that I
could not trust these people, but I always pushed that thought away.
Because we are supposed to be the good guys. The ones who care. The
empathy team.
But now my bass guitar is broken. It looks weird and unnatural and the neck is too short. And yet I still can't pinpoint that that's what's wrong with it. My friends insist it's just my imagination. Why do they do that? They're supposed to be my friends. They're supposed to tell me when I can't see what's in front of me.
The bass guitar is resting on a chair at the far end of the room. It's so hard to pick it up again now. The thick layer of dust would mean I'd have to clean it up first, and I can't go into all that trouble.
So maybe I'll say that it's broken.
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