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The lady with her hair tucked behind her ear -
Sat poised at the piano.
Plink.
The smooth ivory keys.
Delicate notes forming in the darkness;
A slurred melody created by her aged hands.
Her eyes strain for the music which has been erased
From the pages in her memory.
Harmonious stories fill the room and echo,
And chime.
The musky oak piano, with a sweet layer of dust and age;
The scent of history.
Dry mouthed, she sits
Holding her breath
Awaiting the applause from her empty household.





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