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Description
Jarod sat at the desk staring at the blank page.  The empty staffs had become a cage in his mind, each music note a little more painful than the last.  If someone ever told him life would feel like this he would've spent his thousands of dollars of education on something more financially fulfilling.  Instead of having been the five year old who wanted to be a composer when he grows up, his response may have been a doctor or perhaps a lawyer.  Jarod would have chosen any fate but this.

He took a drink of bourbon, a habit he picked up just before his passion died.  Wincing, he continued to scrawl down a few measures, quickly not carefully, before giving up and shoving it into his desk drawer.

Jarod let back his recliner and tried to remember what it used to feel like.  Before the bourbon and the cage and the pain.  Back before music seemed merely to stifle, rather than set him free.  He could remember setting the pen down and it gliding across the page as if his hand was just the instrument the music used to come through, rather than the creator.  Jarod could remember an excitement, no, not quite that but it was the closest word.  It was the biggest and brightest feeling he had ever felt.  he could remember the love, but perhaps all love fades and wears until all that's left are the memories of how it used to feel.

Description
Jarod sat at the desk staring at the blank page.  The empty staffs had become a cage in his mind, each music note a little more painful than the last.  If someone ever told him life would feel like this he would've spent his thousands of dollars of education on something more financially fulfilling.  Instead of having been the five year old who wanted to be a composer when he grows up, his response may have been a doctor or perhaps a lawyer.  Jarod would have chosen any fate but this.

He took a drink of bourbon, a habit he picked up just before his passion died.  Wincing, he continued to scrawl down a few measures, quickly not carefully, before giving up and shoving it into his desk drawer.

Jarod let back his recliner and tried to remember what it used to feel like.  Before the bourbon and the cage and the pain.  Back before music seemed merely to stifle, rather than set him free.  He could remember setting the pen down and it gliding across the page as if his hand was just the instrument the music used to come through, rather than the creator.  Jarod could remember an excitement, no, not quite that but it was the closest word.  It was the biggest and brightest feeling he had ever felt.  he could remember the love, but perhaps all love fades and wears until all that's left are the memories of how it used to feel.