The piano connection

I was washing an oil bottle in my kitchen when I, once again, heard the soft tinkling of piano keys being played upon. It was Beethoven this time. I never really noticed or tried to find out the pianist much. Probably from downstairs. I always admired that person for being able to produce such sweet music, whoever it was. I walked over to my windows and opened it to let the music in more. I was also being a pesky friend, so I looked in at Peter’s unit at the opposite side.

opposite units

His brother was playing the piano. I stood and stared for a while, until I finally realised the music was coming from his open balcony.

heavily edited. if you can make out a person at the piano...

Yes, it was him all right. So all the while I’ve been listening to Peter’s brother? Cool. Soon after that, his father stood beside him. They exchanged words (from what I could see) and his father helped flip the pages. I wanted to cry. What a perfect family. I wish my own father would stand beside me when I played the piano and comment on how I was improving. From what I could discern, the pianist was too tall to be his brother. Hmm. Peter himself on the piano.

I’ve been listening to that person for the longest time, when I get home from school and lie on the couch, on those Sunday afternoons..what a friendship cultivated through piano. I wonder if Peter’s aware. Hmm.

On a lighter note, something to scar you for life.

followed by this

I’m not too sure whether to start silting my wrists with my ruler or gain abs. But one thing for sure it is traumatising.