Music

I miss the sound of a piano. Old and not finally tuned. The sound is coming from the close distance, in an empty half-dark room, the imperfection of a familiar melody. The feeling of music being right there in front of you, running though you, mesmerizing, enchanting, carrying away from what's called real, to stay in this corner of the world and dream, feel, remember, relive something bright, clear like a sky on the crisp winter morning when anything is still possible.

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