What had it been for the last few decades. What had happened to creativity? For which John did not know. He sat at his lonely chair in front of his dust blown instruments. He tried to imagine a piece of music, even a single note. But now, he felt hollow - as if every spark of imagination had left him. He felt empty, lost without his talent of expression. He imagined what he could be doing with his life if he still had it in him. John imagined large concerts, big crowds, and lots of fans. He was swallowed up by the fact that none of this could now happen, and now instead he was stuck up in his room with all his instruments sitting sadly together. He at least thought he should try playing again. He missed the fun sound of listening to his own music. John thought for extensive time looking at the white keys of his piano. His fingers pressed down softly and he listened to the wonderous sound of the keys.

John stared forward amazed at the song he conjured. The first time in years he had heard a wonderful sound coming from the instrument in front of him. He did not know how. John thought about the lost inspiration a few seconds ago, what had it been; what had it been that he lost. For which he did not know, he didn't know where the sudden shock of creativity came from. John had always liked music, but for the past few years he knew no imagination. He had been lost in the deep woods of sorrow; not knowing what to play on his 7 instruments, each one mastered. He invested hours on his music all to lose it in deep thought. He missed the days where he could play anything he thought of. John knew he had recovered now.