PROLOGUE
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I watched secretly as he plays piano notes on his mini keyboard by the fountain. His back is hunched over the keyboard, creating beautiful music in the process.
The disappointment in my heart is now replaced with a calming sensation.
I looked at him from a distance, taking in on what he looks like. He is wearing a red-checked collar shirt with black pants. He has black hair and pale skin, not the ghost type though, it's just right. As I peer closer, he's wearing those thick black-rimmed glasses.
It gives him a nerdy look, but hey, the nerdy chic is popular nowadays.
I sat opposite of where he was by the fountain. I didn't want to interrupt the rhythm of notes synching in place. I closed my eyes and continued listening without startling him.
I listened and listened, he never seem to stop, which is good.
Just as my thoughts said that, he abruptly stops the music and stood up. He quickly walked away from the fountain, as if he was late for an important event.
I watched silently as I see him retreating from the fountain in the town. I've seen him before. He's one of the musicians in the church I attend to. He's also the guy that regularly comes and sits by the fountain, playing creative yet beautiful music with his companion, the mini keyboard.
I too visit this particular fountain. There's actually four of these, but I often come to this particular one. Beautiful fountains they have in this town. Detailed with ancient carvings of a flower I soon known to be called as Inta, which means forgiveness.
To me, the flower kinda reminds me of a carnation.
Every evening, I would ride my worn out bike over here and spend time drawing or to just clear my mind.
And every evening, he'll be tapping over his mini keyboard producing music that I never want it to stop.
His music would sooth my ever-so complicated emotion. I would actually draw something to do so back when I was still in New York, but since I moved here, it doesn't work as well as the music he plays.
I wanted to hear more. Play more.
I need it.
And only his back I see slowly shrinking and disappearing from my view. My heart felt heavy again but this time, I felt lonely inside.
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YOU ARE READING
Story Of My Life
Ficção Adolescente"I don't wanna go there." "Why do we even have to go there?" "Why can't Dad leave and we have the apartment?" These were what I said to myself before knowing how it's like being in Mom's hometown. I also found a new interest, music. Yeah, ok. Every...
