Shelley Edwards is going through her mid-life crisis. She just closed the door to an abusive and unfaithful husband and sent him the divorce papers. She is determined to go back to her childhood believes hoping the grass is more rainbow-colored on t...
Prince really wanted to make things right for Shelley. Even though he was not made of flesh and blood anymore, he knew he had several other attributes which could help her appreciate his soul itself. He visited his bedroom several times and went through his walk-in dressing room. His rows of shoes went up to the ceiling and endless racks of tailor-made clothes, suits and ensembles were lined up one after the other. His memories of when and where he wore such and such wardrobe pieces were coming back as instant colorful cinematic playing cards. He remembered he could not play or be played anymore. He only prayed he could feel once more what it was like to just to hold someone or even be held. The butterflies which once twirled in his stomach were long gone and changed into a translucent morphing whole. He made his decision and picked a black suede suit with little embroidered musical notes, a gold satin shirt and matching sequin gold heels. He lifted his chin and checked himself in his dark mirror. - " Distinguished profile, Uh!? " Prince smirked to his outline.
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Mirrors are like pieces of dreams, he thought. They might reveal truths you may not want to see or give them a little smoke and a house to call their own, mirrors will tell you nothing but dark lies...
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Prince finally headed back downstairs wishing for Shelley to come back. They would certainly spend some time wondering around his property while he would give her another grand tour of what she was willing to see and maybe learn... The night was young, he knew he could allow himself to sit at his piano for a little while. They had decided to move it back in the middle of the Atrium for the very happy few allowed visitors only for a short period of promotional time. Prince bowed his head over the key board and the black and white waltz began. His hands slowly roamed over the notes and the music started to play. As a warmup, one of his old pieces came back to his mind as he stroke the first chords. "Blanche" was the name of it. He remembered exactly how and why he wrote this one. He had been inspired so many times by random daily happenings and this one was of them. He was content with the fact he hadn't forgotten much about it. The more he played, the more he could visualize himself composing it again. The scores of his music were moving on an automatic stand placed in front of him.
