A sweet melancholy, the drift of fingers across the numerous ivory keys, glimmers of light enhancing his vision. His dream, longing for sweet release. Yet for how long may he covet his desires? His hands brush each key gently, the gradual extension and pull of the strings. Producing notes bitter in nature, seeping into his ears like the virtuous maiden of the south.
Brazil is wonderful, is it not? Rio may be one of the most travel-worthy destinations..
Though it may be, quite wild. It screams out joy and bright colors, truly exciting for one who wishes to bathe in rainbows.
Rainbows? Colors? What a travesty.. all he saw ahead was grey roads, his grey horse running amok, the screams coming from the shed as his daughter was brutally murdered, but may his keys paint such a vivid picture? Music, in composition may translate to art. Could you get colors from the notes of a piano?
Each gentle breath, his posture all determined his creations. A clumsy but subtle technician, his thoughts may or may not have included his daughter. Her memories live within him, his only thought as he plays his keys, accelerating and decelerating at a magnificent pace was:
A word-painting of desire and tranquil music.