"The moon is beautiful isn't it?"
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Love cut people short, and with her past catching up to her and a new guy she's bound to fall in love with, can she keep up with herself, and her past?
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try: make an attempt or effort to do something.
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The sound of music filled my ears, the small seat I sat on being conquered by him.
I was a nice person, teaching people became one of the things I learned to do whenever I wanted a friend, yet I also needed my space, that just didn't apply to him.
I loved the piano, a thing that reminded me of my childhood. The era in which I had learned how to play, cursing every time I pressed the wrong key, or played the wrong song.
Playing the piano was like constantly having music around me. I loved it, yet I also hated it. It was like I had to constantly live up to their expectations while falling in love with such a beautiful instrument.
Eventually I did give up on it, but I never forgot how to play, or how much of that music I loved.
I led his hands of flow against the keys, the lit candle being the only light in this storm. The rain crashed down as we worked through the smallest songs.
I wanted to laugh whenever he got something wrong, snicker when he pressed down on the wrong key, but I realized, life is full of mistakes, and learning yourself is better than someone laughing at you. To realize that laughing would only hurt, it made me think about how I always so insecure of playing around my parents.
Their sweet laughs filling the room, until the only laugh left was my mother's, the others soon to disappear.
I watched the rain outside the window fall, the electricity in his apartment never seeming to work through this time of distress.
The candle's light reflected onto this big black piano he'd bought, just to prove he could play better than me, knowing he'd never touched it once in his life.
His smile was beautiful as he finally played the right key, the difficulty in his fingers washing away as he aced the song. His laugh filling my ears, the joy in his body not being able to contain itself.
He looked nice under this light, his body pushing against mine, crying to stay on this small stool in front of the piano as I finally let go of his hands, he no longer needed my assistance in playing.
I was proud, I was happy.
I missed these moments, the times where we just felt like two people who knew each other, two people that wanted to be nothing but people. It was hard to watch him, not say anything. Not to fall in love.
And maybe he did love me, maybe he wanted to tell me one day I questioned, his hands leading me outside into the thundering rain.
