Keys

his fingers blazed across the keys, as if for the first time in his life he was free. the sound coming from the box of ivory and strings filled the room with a white hot intensity. no sheet music dictated the rules of how notes should meet in the air, and no thought ruled the air. it was pure emotion meeting vibrations in the air.

the player sat, in unorthodox manner, with his head hung low, as if his eyes commanded his hands. upon piano set a book- his diary. he was playing his past. his pains. his lost love.

his hair stood up right, staying far off like the people who could no longer stand his stench. his eyes, which were in his youth bright and full of vigor, were now dull and lifeless.

this room, in which he sat, was adorned with no pictures, no paint upon the walls. it was simply him, the piano, and a barred window that lit his diary.

once upon a time, the player had a life that opened new doors each day. he traveled the world with his songbook, playing for crowds of thousands who were so intently focused on him that it seemed the very earth stopped to watch. but with every once comes an after, and when it came, his name was forgotten. it is likely to happen when a love is lost. especially a love like Catalina. she was beautiful and intoxicating, like a vintage wine. upon her death, her untimely death, the player vowed to play no longer. and he kept his vow.

this performance would be his best, and last. his audience- a hungry rat that scurried along the floor and an empty vial of bleach. it seemed he was coming to the last page of his diary. the vial was knocked from the piano from the intensity with which he played his heartbreak. it shattered on the ground as if on cue.

and like that, the music stopped. a loud, dissonant pound on the keys signaled the end of this masterpiece, of this as if the music itself sought forgiveness. but this masterpiece, of ultimate perfection, would never be heard again, but forever immortalized upon the piano that now bore the weight of the player's burden.

the window, that at one time cast its light on the diary, felt it too painful to look upon it anymore and shifted its light upon the empty, gray, concrete walls.

and upon that final page of the diary- the last thing to be connected to the player- read these words:

"i was long ago lost to the world, now i am found by my love. i was dead in my life, now i'm alive in my death. and while there will be none to mourn at my rest, i take solace in the fact that i shall blink, and my love will once again appear before me.

consider me no fool nor coward, but lover. consider me a man in love, not as musician nor composer. remember me for love."

and he was remembered for love.