The price of music

I looked out of the window as we sang. The lyrics come through our vocal chords, harmonies to melodies forming together. “Come to me oh my love.” The Alto’s A was sharp. Altinel didn’t notice. The bridge—picturing a couple’s first kiss, bright and colorful rose blooming. As the couple is about to kiss, my phone goes off. As a new love is forming, my grandmother is passing. I lost my breath, not because of the four-measure crescendo followed by a formata. But because my grandmother took her last breath, as I used mine to make songs.