Mr. Paul,
I was really sad to hear of your death Thursday. I wish it didn’t have to be you. I’m sure, though, that you don’t mind. I never knew you and to be honest I wasn’t familiar with your music but it still hurt to hear about it.
I loved your guitars. They were my favorite. I loved they way they looked and felt. I would always slide my hand across the gloss, tracing that big round curve. I also cradled that bottom point thing, whatever it was called. Holding it close to me, I was in love.
I especially liked the way they sounded, rich and saturated. You could make that rig do just about anything. I’ve felt tones, bassy tones, deep inside that once made me want to riot. I’ve also heard music played from it that literally made me cry, like right now and how I want to cry.
But I don’t. I don’t know why, really. I feel a tinge of guilt for not knowing your music better. That’s something that I will have to work on in the future. Till then I’ll just have to enjoy what you gave me. I’ll think of you when I play. I’ll hold the neck in my hand, firmly. I’ll caress the strings, my old rusted strings. I’ll look up and down the beautiful worn body and play a chord, just for you.
Love always,
-
Photo from Time
