The old man sits cross-legged in a corner of a room.
His fragile arms gently cradling the ancient guitar; one hand
Barely strumming the strings and the other clasping
The neck and pressing on the chords.
Tears stream down the bony structure of his face, wetting the clothes he wears.

He sits there, gently and softly singing the lyrics his friend composed.
The lyrics, “When I leave, you must stay strong and march forward,” choke him.
His eyes swell up with tears.
His head cocks forward and down, feeling guilty for not being there for his friend.

The friend left the fragile old man due to uncontrollable of stress
He possessed.
The stress slowly developed into a pre-form of death, depression.
As the days go by, the depression gets worse.

The old man stayed on the floor as time slowly passed by.
Now, his voice is hardly making any sound.
He thinks back to the day, entering the room,
He sees his friend leave the world with a tightly knotted rope around his neck.
His feet dangle near the toppled stool.

The fragile man’s tears drip
From his eyes down his cheeks and into the sound hole of the guitar.
The wood absorbs the salty liquid that once contained guilt and reminiscences.