The sadness is, partly, selfish, isn’t it? After all, you don’t actually know the person. What you remember is how the person filled in certain times of your life. At a school dance. In the bleachers in high school. Growing up with your cousin, who is a sister to you, and taping songs off the radio onto cassette tapes in your room. The songs by the greatest artists tell you where you were, who was with you, and who you were, who you were, then.

I always really loved that we couldn’t see where the guitar ever went. Especially now.