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of pianos and soft melodies

I remember the cold breeze of November springing up beneath my hair.

My ears were just listening, heart opened while waiting for the music to flow.

There was the soothing call of the piano that took me back to the short nights with my eyes opened, the soft tapping of rain drumming down the roof's slant.

I was sent back with the violin, standing upon my father's presence, growing moonlight streaming in through thin curtains and the soft glow of from the kitchen light.

There we sat, happy; childhood memories creased and bookmarked as the pages began to run out in the old book.

Now here I sit, with the brown piano in the corner of my memories.