Just a girl and her piano

She sat.

She let her pale hand run over the ivory keys.

She placed her numb foot on the stone cold pedal.

She shut her tired blue eyes and let her hands take her away.

The melody she wrote was soft and pure. Straight from her heart.

She had not the strength to talk so she let gentle sound of the notes do it for her.

And once again she forgot. She forgot her hurt and pain.

And all of time stopped. Stopped to listen.

She was not a perfect player. She made small mistakes now and then.

But if you had heard her you would not know. Neither would you care. You simply would forget with her.

Occasionally she would hum a fragile tune. But mostly her hands created.

Her hands would hurt from the cold but that neither would hinder her.

She would play until dream became day.

And even in thought and dream the gentle notes they whispered.

She loved the music and the music loved her.

When she played she was not hurt nor tired she was just a girl and her piano.

Just a girl and her piano.