I am nine years old
Music is a tie that binds and your form will draw raving reviews from the most critical of voices. For some it is a dark and smoky bar to pass time that has slowed to a tedious crawl. Enjoying the company of friends in a dinghy closet for a bar. There is a shiner bottle and some nerdy guy with a dangling cigarette toying with the sorry excuse for a soundboard. Local musicians assume their place on stage. You don’t know them and you never will. But they force a window open that softens your heart for all that is beautiful and good.
A tall imposing figure on stage is playing the most unassuming notes on his guitar. A half a dozen shared evenings have come and gone. You reflect fondly and wonder why there is an empty place in your heart for someone so far away. Grief attaches itself. A music tradition held together by matchsticks and twine has quite possibly met an equal fate this evening.
Friends will advocate for who you were. Good for them. But inspiration lies where you can find it and you will certainly not be remembered by this last unfortunate moment.
RIP
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