“What I mean is, I don’t think you’d be able to stop yourself from composing.” He tapped his head. “As much as we want it to, this never switches off.” He clasped his hands on the tabletop. “Even when I was at my most messed up, with the drink, the drugs, I still composed.” He smiled, but there was nothing happy or humorous about it. Instead it looked sad. It looked like I felt inside. “I came out of rehab with an entire symphony.” He lost his fake smile. “Even if something makes you hate music, whatever it is can often be the catalyst for your next great work.”
