Dream

The guitar stayed on a stand in his bedroom. He picked it up and music just flowed through as though the were one. That was his power, the power to connect with any instrument the moment he touched it. He played for hours and when he stopped he turned into a stone, but he was alive. He just couldn’t move. He shouldn’t have stopped! He regretted it! But what was he to do? He had to! He had other things to do, other places to be! He just remained there, like carved stones at museums.