Play me:
ago long time, a man disappeared from his life.
He loved music, loved his sweet melody, each of their notes, each one of its meanings. Loved in itself, each of their stories. He lived for music and live music for him. It was a perfect relationship. A relationship full of friction, of beats that set the tempo to the beat of his heart. He did not speak, but touched. His speech was none other than the staff, some language that only come to understand it perfectly. Her feelings were the melodies played from within. Feeling that if you listen, eventually evocarÃais from your heart. So he was, a set of notes, keys, sounds closer to the ear.
every morning, even before sunrise, if you spent at your window, you could hear that song. One every day, because they only got, back to life. He lived alone, as his piano for him was everything. But for a while could enjoy, without the bitter loneliness. As with somebody listened, as he drew all his soul the feelings evoked. With every note he played, a touch leaped. Gradually
with its melody, a new picture appeared. The drawing of feeling, a nameless man. Portrait of a piano, played through their hands. But shortly before his last finished work, the last stroke checked, the man disappeared, and with it, the melody is gone. Leaving time limit, an unfinished painting.
Years passed, since that man left to play. Until one morning in the ears of the solo artist, a melody rang. The young man waking up, took out his box to see which one pianist who left his work unfinished, now from his recollection, recall again. And so, with just a memory, the man could regain his picture. Creating in him the place, the pianist always used remember. Where in his childhood, learned to play.
Indiyon
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