Composure, or This Wicked World
Whenever he feels so upset that he cannot handle things, he takes time out to play a gorgeous tune on his harp, and then he is – composed. The harp always stays in his bedroom. Sometime later when he has the time, in the middle of the night, he will get up and the floor will creak as he sits down by the harp and plays that same song, and he cries uncontrollably.
He has been going through his collection of sheet music like they were napkins to dry tears with lately and he is running out of songs to play.