He pointed to the photo of him conducting. “That piece, my most famous, was born from losing someone I loved. From being robbed of a life that should’ve been mine.” He walked to the photo and stared up at himself. “I lost the one I loved through my own stupidity. All that was left was the music that never quieted. I had to write. The notes and melodies haunted me until I did.” He huffed a laugh. “Then, once it was done and out in the world, the symphony haunted me for the rest of my life. Still does.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t play that piece of music. Even now. All these
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