He stared at the piano keys and saw jagged lines, sharps that altered and bent the pitch of the sounds he heard only in dreams. Putting pen to paper, he struggled to capture the pulse, the EKG of the music, its peaks and valleys of feeling. Mistakes,
corrections, frustration, crossings-out, final completed coda. “It is finished,” he said. When they found him, the line had gone flat forever.

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