It began with a note, it progressed with a key, and it ended with a song.
"You're beautiful." His gentle voice claimed.
YAMAHA, that's what she was.
A YAMAHA dressed with all her the ivory keys and midnight accents. With her golden shoes, and long-standing legs.
She was designed to give life to music, but with each passing pianist, she felt even more hollow than before.
They had played together, hand-on-key, and although the notes melded together in perfect harmony, there was something missing.
"YAMAHA? I thought you said that it was a Steinway?" The young man inquired.
"My bad, Mr. Pierre, would you prefer a Steinway?" The man in a suit who seemed to be in charge offered.
"Hm," the young man said glancing at his watch. "We won't have enough time. The YAMAHA will have to do."
Louis Pierre, the brilliant pianist at the age of twenty-three.
As the prodigy's career continues, he finds it more difficult with each passing moment to maintain his muse.
That was until he met her again.
"How is this even possible," he leaned against her as if she was only one able to support him. "How do you fall for something that isn't even alive?"