The Piano

January 25, 2011
By Anonymous

There she sits a girl reaching eleven playing the piano. A prodigy born out of pressure and practice not undermining her sheer talent. Small hands spread out like paws. Fingers frantically at ease purring over every key. Every note. This is the sign of peace. A wild child able to calm herself by the melancholy sound of rich notes spreading through the room. The air itself lifted by the music. A way of life being created. The sound of peace being voiced through simple strokes of a child’s hand. Brown hair dancing, at a simple glance because of the wind but the truth being in spite of the breeze and thrived upon by the music. In her ten years of life she has mastered what takes people life times to create. An escape. An alternate reality where no wrong can be done. Where no tears can fall. A place that the man with the most riches and the lushes of looks envy. A place called love. A place called acceptance. So I say to you dear child all is fair in this false world. The trick is to make all that you feel on the beats of the music pure reality. Let the tears fall and break like glass on those ivory keys and believe that you are creating magic. Let others weep at the sound and more thrive on your talent born of love. Be true to the music and never forget your first note. Because if you do then magic relieves itself of your gentle grip and runs to find a different muse. Then all that is left is you and your eighty eight keys.

The author's comments:
I wrote this for my baby cousin, who's passion I envy. She shared her love so I shared mine.

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