Solo piece
Imagine you're in a dark and cold room, you're on a chair... with a piano in front of you. The only light that illuminates the room is place solely on you. You're the star. You start playing random beautiful pieces like a seasoned pro. Slow and smooth. This was an intimate moment for you. No other sound, not even a whisper can be heard except for the tunes you're playing. The tunes resemble feelings of joy and sorrow. Flashes of memories , random ones come flashing through your mind. You give a slight smirk on the face at times and also frown in sadness. Slowly the notes starts to disappear..the piano vanishes.. the chair was next... you fell and was sat on the floor. No more music.. everything went silent .. the light slowly dims and ultimately disappears.. Gone. I was told that blogging sometimes is a cry for help to the outside world. Is it?
*the writer was told to pour it out the best way he can so that there's more free space on his head for better , more productive things..*
Imagine you're in a dark and cold room, you're on a chair... with a piano in front of you. The only light that illuminates the room is place solely on you. You're the star. You start playing random beautiful pieces like a seasoned pro. Slow and smooth. This was an intimate moment for you. No other sound, not even a whisper can be heard except for the tunes you're playing. The tunes resemble feelings of joy and sorrow. Flashes of memories , random ones come flashing through your mind. You give a slight smirk on the face at times and also frown in sadness. Slowly the notes starts to disappear..the piano vanishes.. the chair was next... you fell and was sat on the floor. No more music.. everything went silent .. the light slowly dims and ultimately disappears.. Gone. I was told that blogging sometimes is a cry for help to the outside world. Is it?
*the writer was told to pour it out the best way he can so that there's more free space on his head for better , more productive things..*
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