This is How You Will Remember It

At night, the dark seeping in through the window and under the closed door, your music echoed through the house, the same melody, over and over.  You were working on a song, trying to get it just right, tuning the guitar to your only pitch.  Then, when you got the melody just where you wanted it, you payed it a final time, singing carefully, sometimes as if you meant it, performing only for yourself.  I hear that song these days, and it brings a strange, sweet comfort I hadn't anticipated. Where is that guitar?

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