He layed there, motionless, not sure what to think or feel. Was he feeling anything? Or was this the feeling of complete nulity. The wood creaked as he climbed down from his own little world which existed only in the corner of his bed. The light shone brightly into his refined sapphire eyes. He paused and held onto the ladder that disconnected him from his preffered reality. Though he was inside, the air felt unstable. Similar to the way the air felt before a large storm, followed by the petrichor that travled so lightly in the air. His loose grey and crimson shirt hung off his right shoulder, exposing an inch of his prominent collarbone, to which he occasionally fixed. Ignoring the last step, he heavily fell onto the chair below him, causing him to roll forward. His eyes were drawn to the mostly new, but well used piano on the far most east side of his boxy, not-quite-turquoise blue room. Even being an inatimate object, it looked quite melancholy (the absolute most overused word for sad in any English book) with a rather large, bent copy of the quater note covered sheet music for Moonlight Sonata draped across the black and white keys. He straightened out the paper and rested it near by and soon proceded to play it placidly, over and over. Even the most seemingly lugubrious things could produce such an alluring noise. Though none quite as winsome as the one playing it.
