once

when there are no pictures to sift through and the dusty old memories are all you`ve got, you let the chords of a guitar vibrate an imagine behind closed eyelids. voices in the song become smooth echoes of  long nights with singing and poems and laughter and feeling. memory lane is long and dark and the farther a door is, the faded the image becomes.
i miss you, mister. silence has no more rhythm, notes have scattered on the floor, measures are stuck.
my body is wrapped in a blank musical scale. i sometimes wonder if you could paint back the melody. do you still whistle the tune?