Songs are made of memories

I was finishing the lecture notes for my last lecture, and I received this email from Mr. Bonapster, with a link to the complete Songbook of The Beatles, with the lyrics and chords of all their songs to play on the guitar. Instinctively, I looked out for "While my guitar gently weeps", took out my old spanish guitar from the case of the past and started playing. I sang this:

I look, at you all, see the love, there that's sleeping,
while my guitar, gently weeps.
I look, at the floor, and I see it needs sweeping,
still my guitar, gently weeps.
I don't know why, nobody told you, how to unfold your love.
I don't know how, someone controlled you, they bought and sold you.
I look, at the world, and I notice it's turning,
while my guitar, gently weeps.
With every mistake, we must surely, be learning,
still my guitar, gently weeps

I don't know how, you were diverted, you were perverted, too.
I don't know how, you were inverted, no one alerted you.
I look, at you all, see the love, there that's sleeping,
while my guitar, gently weeps. Look at you all...
Still my guitar, gently weeps.

And then I tought, again, of Berkeley, and how I played that song on my computer hundreds of times, a version with George Harrison and Eric Clapton. Then:

Option 1) I felt nostalgic, I was sad, but I couldn't help putting the guitar away and going on with the preparation of the lecture.
Option 2) The song was too long and complicated, so I started playing a blues, got excited with a guitar solo of mine, and finally put away my guitar to go on with the preparation of the lecture.

Life is a combination of uncomplete(d) options, and songs are made of memories.