I played it for the sadness we share. The music it made was between me and him. Does that mean this sax was never really mine? Did it cease, after years of this alchemical bond between father and son, belonging to me at all?

I've tried to write about the way saxophones figure in my relationship with my father, usually without much satisfaction. I don't love them, but I'll share them in the path that starts below. The labyrinth is all about sharing, you know. 

And I should share with you this fact, which explains my I talk about my Bundy in the past tense: while working on daddylabyrinth, I upgraded my sax. I have a student-level Yamaha now, a much better instrument that I somehow manage to play less frequently. 

Is it because I haven't had enough years to forge a bond between it and the ghost of my father? Can any other sax than my Bundy earn such a bond? I suspect not. Why did I get rid of it, then? I feel like such a traitor. We had some good times with that sax, me and dad. And I traded it in, like a fool, for something fancier that had less soul.