The Pianist

September 16, 2012
By Anonymous

The ivory keys glisten, even beneath their dull coat of dust, a sharp contrast to the ebony colored keys, as striking to see as to hear. In the empty room I can almost hear the echo of melodies played so long ago. But in reality there is only silence.

I sit at the piano, all alone. The room feels empty with only me here. For the first time in my life there is only one me; one reflection in the mirror, one voice, one body, one soul…only one laugh to fill the room…only one voice sobbing in the darkness. Where is my sister?
I feel as if half of my heart has been torn from my chest; half of me is missing. The years of childhood are gone. In place of the innocent girls, two look alike children, who spend every waking hour playing together, there is only me. One adult, sitting quietly, all alone.
I miss the sound of the piano playing I miss the beautiful voice and the ethereal melodies that issued from the well worn keys, coaxed out lovingly from the depths, ivory keys stroked by gently fingers. The silence is eerie. I miss the sound of the piano playing. But most of all, I miss the pianist.

I strike a note and it rings out, discordant and hollow, no longer sweet. It’s as if the piano’s heart is broken.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Sep. 19 2012 at 6:26 pm
Eliquencity PLATINUM, Winfield, Illinois
20 articles 0 photos 28 comments
What a beautiful, artistic, meloncholy peice. I wonder why she is alone. What happened to her sister? This could be made into an excellent poem (hint-hint).

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