Pale fingers dance across the ivory keys against the dark, chocolate wood. A song pours out of the open back, sliding down the piano legs, and crawling against the floor. The whole house is filled with the melancholic tune.
The world is silent except for the single song, as if the song had become the world.A/N: A small drabble I wrote the other day about playing piano. Will it become a story...?
I like this piece. Where's the illustration-it is what you really good at
ReplyDelete