The Musician's Heart

The Keys of the Piano

A cool breeze flows through the empty room. All is silent, save for the soft echoing of footsteps. It is a man as he approaches the bench. Sitting down, he carefully lifts back the cover of the piano, exposing the black and white keys. Slowly raising his arms, he poses his fingers above them. Gently flexing each hand in turn before resting them upon the smooth surface of the keys. He softly inhales before applying a slight amount of pressure; the note resounding in his ears and filling the once quiet room.
Releasing his breath to clear his mind, he continues. The familiar chords sounding as his fingers leap across the keys. His left hand creating a lower bass to accompany the swiftly moving tune on his right. Pushing down a pedal, each sound builds up before abruptly ceasing. He pauses, silently moving his foot to count each measure of rest before laying his fingers down upon the keys once more. The tempo increases, his fingers moving nimbly, creating a playful movement through the music.
He began adding underlying deep tones before slowly bringing them out into a crescendo, darkening the feeling of the sound. He plays each note with emotion, threading together a tale. Smoothly, he runs his fingers down the scale, creating a fall before sounding the last chord.
He lifts his fingers from the keys after first letting the sound fade. Cracking his knuckles, a rather unhealthy habit of his, he stands from his seat.
Nodding to himself, proud of his work, he takes care to return the instrument to its original state. Then, with a positive air about him, he leaves the room to be empty once again.
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True musical masterpieces aren't heard with the ears or observed with the eyes, but rather felt in the heart.
-Flame-