He examined his fingertips, the faint remains of calluses a #vestige of his long love of music. He couldn’t remember making a decision to stop playing. Yet somehow days between practice turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and before long he’d just… stopped.

He lifted his old guitar out of its case, the sweet scent of spruce filling the air. As he played a chord, the bite of the strings both painful and familiar, he couldn’t help but smile.