This week, I brought home a new parlour guitar.

It’s a shape I haven’t played in a long time, but one that feels familiar. It was the first kind of guitar I ever held — the one I learned on, long before I knew what I was doing.

My papa gave me that first guitar when he heard I wanted to start playing. It was his — an old one from the 60s, worn in all the right places, carrying more history than I probably understood at the time. I still have it, though it needs more care than I can give it right now. It sits in a cupboard over there, waiting.

So when I picked up this new parlour guitar, it felt like something had come back.

There’s usually a process with a new instrument. A kind of slow introduction. The wood is stiff, the sound a little held back, your hands unsure of where they belong. It takes time before it feels like yours — before the edges soften and the notes begin to settle.

But this one has been different.

From the first few moments, it felt, as I say… familiar. Not in a nostalgic way, but in something quieter. Like stepping into a place you’ve not been in for years, but somehow still know where you are going.

I’m sure it will change over time — open up, deepen, become something even more its own. But for now, it already feels like it belongs here.

— Panting Deer x