Sound and colour

My guitar is out of tune right now, but I kind of like it. It's pleasing, kind of a broken sound. Each chord I play sounds a little like it's falling apart, like as I hit the strings that are out of tune the chord sort of struggles to retain it's sound. There's something about it that I like, maybe something about it that I find ... real? I don't know. It's imperfect, and I love imperfections. Every painting, movie, comic book or song I've ever liked has been imperfect, every girl I've ever been in love with has been imperfect, which I guess is what makes them all perfect to me. There's no light outside as I write this, so I've turned on the light in my room. I hate doing that, because I hate the way that the tungsten light turns the colours in my room a washed out orangey hue. But today it seems ... appropriate. Today I feel like maybe there's something on the way that's not so good, and that I should be happy right now with what I have right now. And as anyone who's ever lived outside of a norman rockwell painting can tell you, there's no worse feeling than knowing that you need to be happy with what you have right now, because it usually means something is going to take it away. So I will sit here knowing full well that the tungsten light is throwing the colour balance in my room off, like it's washing the high points of it away. Maybe if I knew more about music I could tell you what exactly was wrong with my guitar, and why it sounded the way it does, I could throw around a lot of musical jargon, and then tune it back up. And I'm sure I'll tune it back up eventually, but for right now, this morning, with this pounding in my head and this feeling in my chest, with this longing and this sense of something bad on the horizon, I'll take my broken guitar, and my washed out colours.