In the last couple of weeks I have come to own a ukelele and a guitar. I did not buy either of them. One was given to me (the uke) and the guitar I found cast aside on the street, missing strings but full of promise.

I used to own a guitar. When I was about 14 my father took me to the pawn shop and traded in the flute I'd played in elementary school for an acoustic guitar, an Alvarez, a beautiful instrument carved of light wood with dark inlay.

I learned to play a couple of songs, and although I can confidently say that I have absolutely no musical ability, one of the best days of my life was spent on the edge of a lake in the mountains, strumming that guitar and learning chords. As dark began to fall and the air grew cool, my boyfriend taught me to play a riff from my favorite song, and I thought it was a fitting end to a perfect day.

When I moved to New York I took the guitar, decorating its case in the way I thought was fitting to a Gotham bohemian. Stickers that said Vespa, Firenze and "the only Bush you can trust is your own." I learned to play "The Boxer" and decided that it was "my song" because when I played it I felt something stir inside, like I'd swallowed a butterfly and it was trying to escape.

Later, when I left town taking only what would fit in two oversized Chinatown suitcases, I was forced to relinquish my guitar to a boy who once gave me free iced coffees and won me over with his statuesque, misplaced confidence.

~In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade. And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame, I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains ~

I'm glad to have my strings back -- even if I am no good at music.