It is strange... when I take in hands the guitar to me becomes warm on soul. I easily concern strings, running on them a brush of the right palm. For me it as one more miracle of light - my guitar. When I play on it, my evil thoughts disappear, I as though plunge into a fine dream in which all my dreams came true... It is possible to consider it as reality. and can and isn't present. Familiar chords. the fingers sliding on a signature stamp... and after all it was when that my dream. but it collapsed, having become reality... though all my dreams so came true