The piano speaks to me. First we are quiet and only familiar tunes play themselves out...that all comes from the brain. Tonight I composed a song called "He and She," but because I am unable to write music I stared at the words and waited until something came to me. My fingers grazed the keys as my foot held down the middle peddle that muffles the sound. Suddenly I had composed a Russian Waltz, which surprised me due to the fact that I hadn't imagined that either "he" or "she" came from Russia. It's beautiful. It's about a girl who gave her heart to a boy and it leaves a hole in her chest. She waits for him everyday to beg for it back, but he clings to her heart, refusing to let it go despite the gaping hole. Eventually she dies, leaving him alone with only the guilt of her life on his hands.
I know, it sounds depressing when put in words, but on the piano...it's so much different. You don't know who's side to take: The girl who loved and gave all she could until all was lost, or the boy who wouldn't let go even when the end was inevitable. I am my piano's slave and I couldn't be more grateful for it. I escape to other worlds, other countries, other lives. I have the world at my fingertips. Play me a song.
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