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There is no experience in the world       that I cherish more             than hearing my father play the piano. It's imperfect and beautiful and                                                        sounds                                                                like                                                                   home. The notes are often choppy, and there are pauses       as his mind turns over what keys to play next --             sort of like our lives as a family. We're awkward       and have             broken             periods, but altogether we're making music. Every breath a note,       every laugh a chord, every      "I love you"      a harmony             that only our family       can hear. And there's staccato! arguments, and there's fortissimo days with pianissimo nights, and there's repeat on repeat on repeat,       making our lives seem       constantly       andante. But life is like a series of randomly placed fermatas -- unpredictable, yet musically enriched because of it.             And I wouldn't want it any other way.
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Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
My Father's Piano
There is no experience in the world       that I cherish more             than hearing my father play the piano. It's imperfect and beautiful and                                                        sounds                                                                like                                                                   home. The notes are often choppy, and there are pauses       as his mind turns over what keys to play next --             sort of like our lives as a family. We're awkward       and have             broken             periods, but altogether we're making music. Every breath a note,       every laugh a chord, every      "I love you"      a harmony             that only our family       can hear. And there's staccato! arguments, and there's fortissimo days with pianissimo nights, and there's repeat on repeat on repeat,       making our lives seem       constantly       andante. But life is like a series of randomly placed fermatas -- unpredictable, yet musically enriched because of it.             And I wouldn't want it any other way.
The day my father stops playing piano is the day a piece of my soul dies.
crystaljune
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Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
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