Music was coming from somewhere. So I decided to follow the sound. When I got to a bend in the creek that feeds the lake, I found a guitar. It was laying in the grass, burbling music like a spring, and I had the strangest urge to coo to it; for a second I saw an infant in its place.

I picked it up and instantly heard, “always loved this song” from somewhere; everywhere and no where all at once. It was the same as the voice that calls my name, though, that keeps happening less and less.

The music continued to flow, perhaps a bit strangled, despite the presents of my fingers on the guitar. The song was eerily familiar. As I watched the strings move, I realized I could copy the movements and make the song bitter or sweet. It was so beautiful.

...

His hand moved to the CD player and turned the volume down.

“I do love you. It’s just so easy to lose hope, sweetie. I remember when we used to dance to this song. My little girl…” he sighed.

...

Suddenly, all I wanted to do was dance to the song.