School, Guitar, and Death

I could hear the simple melody from afar. Correction: I could see it. Beautiful blue electricity crossed my vision. As I walked across the campus and passed the sun-bleached green picnic tables, the colors danced enticing me to follow. Sensuous electric fingers pleading and pulling. On the concrete steps, sweating in the sun, sat a lone guitarist, or maybe it was just the guitar. I cannot seem to recall. The guitar wailed and I, looking around, was the only one listening. Does music exist for the creator or the listener? I do not know. All I do know, however, is that without either it cannot exist, and, with only one, it cannot truly live. There is a symbiosis. An osmosis of emotion. Without which, the music is naught. The music is dead.

The sun sets,

the music recedes,

and the death of day begins.

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