To: the Piano Player
From: Me
Why ‘the Piano Player’?
To: Me
From: the Piano Player
Because that’s the most special thing about me. I’m the piano player.
To: the Piano Player
From: Me
I don’t think so. You’re more than that.
To: Me
From: the Piano Player
Who are you to judge? You don’t know me that well.
To: the Piano Player
From: Me
I’d like to.
He hoped that he wasn’t rushing things between them. They started texting a few weeks ago but… it’s strange. Whoever this person was, it was like she got him. Well, maybe not exactly, but she was willing to understand. She’d keep her thoughts, but would still think about his. Open-minded, you could say; something that some people weren’t.
And she was… she was strangely beautiful in that higher sense. She thought like a poet, and spoke to him like a siren calling out from the rocky shores of an island that he shouldn’t dare approach. And the situation was exactly like that – this girl was a stranger and who knew what danger she might be to him. She might be a serial killer or a cannibal for all he knew.
But like a sailor enraptured by the siren’s song, he was going to risk it anyway like an idiot. Because she was different. He knew she was.
YOU ARE READING
The Piano Player
Teen FictionSome people were born into lives that seem to be written by boy band-obsessed fan girls, or introverted poets, or dreamers that never stop floating into the clouds. With lives full of conflict and interest and changes, they just simply made chameleo...
