When I was 7 I thought I was the best piano player to ever exist, I thought if I could play loud enough the notes will start floating out- enchanting everyone to my will.
When I was 12 I dreamed of being like mozart or even anything close, playing with my eyes closed fast as if my fingers can float.
When I was 16 I hated mozart and everything he was, I stopped playing the piano just because it's sound was too loud.
Now I'm 17 and I talk to my notes, we make conversations so long- enough to write a book.
Maybe I'll make it till 20, maybe I'll write a song, and hopefully it will be so soft it can melt the coldest of hearts.
And maybe I never will- I'll leave that hope on a shelf, and learn I never played for anyone else but myself.
YOU ARE READING
Empty me, Fill me up
PoetryPoetry about life's journey, from childhood to adulthood. It's about love and it's cost, girlhood and everything that followes. From the lowest point of depression and grief to the euphoria of sincere love. For all the girl who ever felt the need to...
