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Fingerprints

We went through some of the diskettes Erick left behind. They contained songs that he played on his synthesizer some time back. As we played them on the church keyboards I couldn't help but almost feel his presence and how I miss it.
The songs play on, but no fingers touch the keys. He's not sitting there, and his corny jokes are nowhere to be heard. I strum the guitar but am nowhere near the proficiency of Matthew, my cousin who is also down-under.
Come back fast you two. We're all missing you.
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