is a lullaby.
her slender hands reaching the low ebony keys
of a piano,
slowly and drawn out
at first.
melody.
crescendo.
now in this dimly light room
her hands pound keys on the piano
faster and louder
expressively yet...
harsh.
faster
and louder
louder
and faster.
she travels through the piece
at last reaching the finale
but abruptly stops.
her blurred figure begins to move freely
to the achingly slow
yet painful melody
that she had visited in the beginning.
but this time
she does not want to leave.
with the final glide of her fingers
a mere teardrop hits the ebony black.
her song
a story.
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