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The Piano Man




It was very windy and you could see the big tree swaying from the window. It was all so cloudy and a little sunny, just the right amount. Just the perfect kind of weather for a big cup of hot chocolate and daydreaming, you know? When you just stay tucked in a warm blanket and look outside and let the air take you away, far far away? Yea, that kind. Just absolutely perfect.




I was not sure how I got there on that very big and comfortable and really maroon armchair, for starters. With a blanket so fuzzy. But my mind did not, not even for a second, want to wander from what was around. There in that room with the ceiling so high, I swear you could not have had a full look at it without twitching your neck. Bookshelves to no end with so many books. Never had I ever seen so many books not even in the wildest of my dreams. And the best part? It was all wood. With big windows across the west side. It was all very old and gloomy yet so tidy. 

As beautifully chaotic as it was outside it was a rushing calm inside. The perfect storm with just the right amount of sunshine. 

I tucked myself a bit further in my really maroon armchair and it felt like it hugged me back so I let go. I set my focus on the piano. And there he was, right in the center of the most beautiful library. I could not figure out his face. I could see in detail everything but I missed his face. He was wearing a white shirt, crisp and neat. He had whiskey on the rocks in a crystal glass placed right in front of him. I could make out a few spills, probably from when he put down his glass in a hurry to keep up with playing. Sunshine touched his caramel skin now and then whenever the sun peeked out of the clouds. He was swaying to the music, just like the trees swayed to the wind outside the room. So his cigarette made patterns around him. If I hadn't known better I'd say I was watching a painting move. He was perfect. And the feeling, wondrous to behold.

He kept playing, for a long while. I had absolutely gotten lost. I did not feel the urge to see his face. I almost forgot that I hadn't seen the face of the man who with his music had taken me away with him. A thousand miles, farther away. I hadn't seen the face of the man with whom I had crossed what felt like a thousand oceans and hundreds of galaxies. It was in that moment of being purely lost that I think I heard his laugh. A soft and warm laugh. That sound had me believe that he must have a beautiful smile. That is when I wanted to see him. Look at his face. See his smile. 

Had he just taken me away only for me to come back looking for him? I did not understand how he did that. But I did want to see his smile, nothing more and nothing less. He kept playing hidden behind the piano. Playing the music of the sky and the moon. 



A slight sound of the hushing winds and he stopped. He reached out for his drink and finished it in one sip. Put the glass back, stubbed the cigarette out, and got up. As for me, it felt like time had stopped. I could feel my heartbeat in my mouth. My head as fuzzy as my blanket. I immediately sank further in it, staring down. My thighs shivering under the cover. I could feel it in my bones. I couldn't muster the courage to look up. I tried a million times over in those few moments but I couldn't lookup. 

He walked towards me, slowly and stood at some distance. His shadow almost playing tricks with my soul. It felt like a teasing sensation had washed all over me. I could feel his eyes on me, almost trying to study me. I could hear him breathe while he carefully watched me slumber into the nothingness of my blanket. 

I heard a sigh and then in the most magical voice, "since you're here, away with me, would you like to play?" he asked. "I do not know how to play" is all I could manage in a very shaky and weak voice.  He walked a bit closer and touched my hand. Then my body froze. I felt as cold as ice with a fire burning inside me. Now I couldn't look up even if I wanted to. I couldn't blink. Hell, I couldn't even breathe. "I could teach you if you kept coming away with me," he said after a moment of silence. 

And it slipped very naturally, as if it were just meant to be in that split second from my lips, "I will always come away with you."

"Very well then," said he and turned away. He walked back to his piano and started playing again. I was starting to slip away, again. I could not see his face, in all my being through all my strength. Somewhere deep inside I chose not to see his face. I couldn't look at him look at me because I knew I'd melt. I wish I could explain why. 

It was then 1145. I was up. I was up because of this stupid thing called an alarm. It was time to head out for work. After living through about hundreds of days of being away, I got out of bed. 




I looked at the floor and whispered to myself, "his voice, please don't let me forget his voice."



Until next time,
Love always
S

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