May your art never die.

The Xbox cable brushes against the guitar strings.

They mutter a cautious chirp from behind the TV.

Frightened, the guitar blasts me with guilt and musical memories.

Dazed I stagger back. Hesitant.

A deep ache rises from a forgotten place. Sorcery!

That old stringed box works strong magic against my soul, begging to be heard again.

But alas, my will proves stronger.


I turn my back on the rusty siren to bow before the mighty rectangle.

May your art never die.

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