He looked at the row of photographs on the piano; grandchildren, presumably, from their christenings to their graduations, a whole family’s history was on display. He picked out the ones with silver looking frames, put them in his bag, then went back through the kitchen, and out the bay window by which he had broken in.
Oh how I wish I knew how to play. I can remember taking lessons from my uncle when I was very young. I can’t help but wonder how things would be if I could have continued learning. I could be amazing on the instrument right now!
I keep telling me one day I will continue to learn. maybe one day I will!
I would really love to in order to be able to delve deeper into my music…writing and performing. Maybe even teaching it. Who knows what the road ahead holds? I certainly don’t. All I can do is do the one foot in front of the other thing and keep the forward momentum at this point.
I do feel there is a good future waiting for me to arrive into it.
Music will always be a huge part of my life, no matter what the rest of the future holds. I will never be a star. That is not what it is about with me. It is communication for me. Between me & God; between me and others and between my physical me and my spiritual me. That is where it is for me.
Her fingers deftly tumbled across the keys of the dust-coated instrument, the melody slipping into the air like honey being poured out of a jar. The room fell silent.
“Ich sitz schon wieder, barfuß am Klavier”. The tone ist beautiful and I am listening to the sound. I’m trying to find the perfect point to raise my voice and give the sound a song. Too late. Again. I’m smiling in apology to me teacher, she shakes her head and starts to play again. When that specific point arrives, she nods and I start singing.
She sat there, in the same position, remembering her past days. Her past days when she played the piano to her heart’s content, and he encouraged her to play more. She could make him listen to the piano’s notes for hours as he stared at her affectionately while she played it. Now, as her fingers ran through the keyboard, a ten-year old similar sound struck her memory lane.
He sat on the stool. The keys were covered in dust, covering his fingertips in a thin layer of death. What is this place? He gently pressed a key, slowly releasing his finger as it made a loud sound twice.
one time i was a pianist but i quit because people thought I told them I was a penis and then i had no friends it made me sad. It made me really really sad, i got a violin instead.
My hands rest on the skeleton keys. Battered and worn from thousands of people who might have played before me and the heavy abuses of time. They don’t connect to the music anymore. They don’t connect to much of anything anymore. Just a ghost of a time when this place was filled with music, and when the sound of a good piano was regarded as a sort of treasure. Here, in this empty concert hall with nothing but dust motes as my audience I pretend to create something great.
Her fingers glided gently over the keys as if she were caressing a soft kitten. Playfully they danced, producing a light and happy tune that filled the dusky air with soothing bliss. I smiled and sipped my wine, basking in the late sun’s warm glow.
Swiftly and precisely, his fingers danced on the keys of his father’s piano. He knew these songs by heart and felt the same emotions he had felt the first time he played these tunes. He could feel the anguish within him begin to grow and couldn’t stop the slow tears. His father had been dead for 17 years.
She played the piano daily. After 3pm, she would sit down for two hours, running her hands over keys she couldn’t see. The sound would be considered noise to any stranger passing by the one story house, but to her, the music let her dream in images.
She had always wanted to take piano lessons but it was never in the budget. So now at the ripe old age of 65 she is finally taking piano lessons and realizes that she hates it.
Jongin has a knack for sitting down at the piano and keying tiny three second melodies while Sehun lies in bed. It’s one of the few more innocent things Jongin does. One of the only innocent things Jongin does.
Piano keys. I see them, their black and white faded glory; how many before me have played right here? How many have had that inspiration hit, that magical luminescent moment of “I’ve got it!” while composing, or learning a new song?
In the center of the room sat a grand piano like no other. It was made of glass. As she inched closer the keys began to move, singing out with a beautiful melody.
I have loved piano since the day my finger found the keys. The rhythmic roll of sound it produces never ceases to amaze me. When I really immerse myself in a song, it’s the most amazing feeling. My fingers pound across the keys and I feel powerful.
white key, black keys, music, Beethoven, Mozart, peace, happiness, life source, wish I knew how to play, want to learn how to play, Fiona Apple, Elton John, Billy Joel
She paused in the hallway and held her breath. She heard the fan buzzing in the next room, the trolley moving down the street, someone scolding a dog outside. After a moment she shook her head and kept walking. Sometimes she could swear she could still hear the music, even though she knew that John and his daughters had moved to Tampa two years before.
The keys of the piano were old. As her fingers brushed them it felts like they were cracking beneath her touch. Then again, it felt like the whole universe had cracked. Ever since it had started, ever since they came, everything had been turned to ash. It had been so long since she had even seen a piano, and so long since she had been able to stop running long enough to admire it.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, dropping onto the seat beside him.
He stared at the ivory white keys in front of him, frowning. “…I forgot the notes.”
“Well then, why don’t you just make up your own?”
He raised his head and blinked up at her, intrigued.
They spent the rest of the day plunking out the notes of their own song.
when i was an young girl i had played the piano. it was very fun and i was a bit to talkative to my piano teacher. so my mother made me quit and then play tennis.
music. jazz. this reminds me of gregoy porter. max convinced me to go before the 2nd semester bar review and it was such an amazing show. i had never heard a piano live before in that setting it was absolutely amazing and i can’t wait to hear another jazz concert live. this 60 second thing is hard to do and it makes me nervous haha.
It was supposedly just a school project; to look for a classical piece by piano and make my own interpretation of it. Back then i was not so enthused with pianos, or any form of classical music for that matter. I was never going to take it seriously. So i chose quickly and lightheartedly the first classical piece i found. It was a Beethoven sonata i believe. I cannot even remember which one. Only i remember how i was the first time i heard it. It did not make sense. I had to struggle. I had to repeat it several times. Until somewhere in the middle of the piece i saw an image of an old man in a straw hat. He was walking leisurely and then suddenly, he accidentally came across a beehive. He was chased by bees and ran all over the place. It was a very simple image, and yet it did enough to move me. Perhaps i am over-romanticizing what happened. But know what i felt. I saw music and i fell in love, the first time i truly did.
My fingers move with the deftness that can only be explained as prodigal. Sharp notes cut through the air like bullets. Slowly, they begin to drop both in tone and cadence, until finally nothing but a dull siren of noise remains.
She sat at the piano, willing her fingers to play, to forget what was plaguing her mind. To be distracted in the music was all she needed, escapism is addictive you know.
Music playing softly, drifting through the chambers until it reached him as a faint echo of what it had been. He starts, leaves his work and his disaster, follows the song until he reaches the source.
She is playing quietly, softly, only for herself. He leans in the doorway. She does not know he is there.
I never loved the sound of the piano more then I did right then. The war, killing and hardware over and once again we sit together in peace and listen to the piano
Edith smiled and shook her head. “I’m not sure by now,” she replied. “Sixty years? Seventy? My father played it for me all the time. When the storms got bad, it was the sound of his improvised sonatas in minor keys that helped me ignore the lightning and thunder.”
She stood up to get another cookie from the table, then fetched the kettle for Paul. Paul, however, wasn’t interested in drinking any more tea. He was more interested in the conversation.
The soft rinkling of the piano acted as a beacon, a musical trail of breadcrumbs that led her to precisely where she wanted to go.
She moved into the den and paused midstride, leaning back against the doorframe to watch as her girlfriend loving coaxed the deceptively simple tune from the ivories.
The music drifted upstairs like the smell of a burning candle. Sarah hadn’t played in ages, that was what brought me downstairs. Curiosity as to what had healed my broken sister.
My hands hovered over the keys.
“Should I?”
It’d been so long – they might be waiting for me.
I pressed down one key. The grand piano resounded with the note. My heart swelled.
They can wait.
i wish i could play the piano but ill be happy with my abilities today. maybe one day ill pick it up. maybe one day ill stop talking about some days and maybe maydays.
You sit there in my living room reminding me of my initial good intentions. Mocking me .
He looked at the row of photographs on the piano; grandchildren, presumably, from their christenings to their graduations, a whole family’s history was on display. He picked out the ones with silver looking frames, put them in his bag, then went back through the kitchen, and out the bay window by which he had broken in.
Oh how I wish I knew how to play. I can remember taking lessons from my uncle when I was very young. I can’t help but wonder how things would be if I could have continued learning. I could be amazing on the instrument right now!
I keep telling me one day I will continue to learn. maybe one day I will!
I would really love to in order to be able to delve deeper into my music…writing and performing. Maybe even teaching it. Who knows what the road ahead holds? I certainly don’t. All I can do is do the one foot in front of the other thing and keep the forward momentum at this point.
I do feel there is a good future waiting for me to arrive into it.
Music will always be a huge part of my life, no matter what the rest of the future holds. I will never be a star. That is not what it is about with me. It is communication for me. Between me & God; between me and others and between my physical me and my spiritual me. That is where it is for me.
Her fingers deftly tumbled across the keys of the dust-coated instrument, the melody slipping into the air like honey being poured out of a jar. The room fell silent.
“Ich sitz schon wieder, barfuß am Klavier”. The tone ist beautiful and I am listening to the sound. I’m trying to find the perfect point to raise my voice and give the sound a song. Too late. Again. I’m smiling in apology to me teacher, she shakes her head and starts to play again. When that specific point arrives, she nods and I start singing.
She sat there, in the same position, remembering her past days. Her past days when she played the piano to her heart’s content, and he encouraged her to play more. She could make him listen to the piano’s notes for hours as he stared at her affectionately while she played it. Now, as her fingers ran through the keyboard, a ten-year old similar sound struck her memory lane.
The man stared with trepidation at his fingers as his assistant led him up the stairs.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and let’s hear a warm round of applause for our world-renowned pianist!”
The man sneezed.
Should have taken the opportunity to grasp you by my two hands when I was small. Little did I know the beauty of the piano.
He sat on the stool. The keys were covered in dust, covering his fingertips in a thin layer of death. What is this place? He gently pressed a key, slowly releasing his finger as it made a loud sound twice.
one time i was a pianist but i quit because people thought I told them I was a penis and then i had no friends it made me sad. It made me really really sad, i got a violin instead.
My hands rest on the skeleton keys. Battered and worn from thousands of people who might have played before me and the heavy abuses of time. They don’t connect to the music anymore. They don’t connect to much of anything anymore. Just a ghost of a time when this place was filled with music, and when the sound of a good piano was regarded as a sort of treasure. Here, in this empty concert hall with nothing but dust motes as my audience I pretend to create something great.
Her fingers glided gently over the keys as if she were caressing a soft kitten. Playfully they danced, producing a light and happy tune that filled the dusky air with soothing bliss. I smiled and sipped my wine, basking in the late sun’s warm glow.
Swiftly and precisely, his fingers danced on the keys of his father’s piano. He knew these songs by heart and felt the same emotions he had felt the first time he played these tunes. He could feel the anguish within him begin to grow and couldn’t stop the slow tears. His father had been dead for 17 years.
She played the piano daily. After 3pm, she would sit down for two hours, running her hands over keys she couldn’t see. The sound would be considered noise to any stranger passing by the one story house, but to her, the music let her dream in images.
She had always wanted to take piano lessons but it was never in the budget. So now at the ripe old age of 65 she is finally taking piano lessons and realizes that she hates it.
Jongin has a knack for sitting down at the piano and keying tiny three second melodies while Sehun lies in bed. It’s one of the few more innocent things Jongin does. One of the only innocent things Jongin does.
Piano keys. I see them, their black and white faded glory; how many before me have played right here? How many have had that inspiration hit, that magical luminescent moment of “I’ve got it!” while composing, or learning a new song?
In the center of the room sat a grand piano like no other. It was made of glass. As she inched closer the keys began to move, singing out with a beautiful melody.
I have loved piano since the day my finger found the keys. The rhythmic roll of sound it produces never ceases to amaze me. When I really immerse myself in a song, it’s the most amazing feeling. My fingers pound across the keys and I feel powerful.
the sound of the piano danced mellifluously across the banquet hall, as every stood bewitched as
white key, black keys, music, Beethoven, Mozart, peace, happiness, life source, wish I knew how to play, want to learn how to play, Fiona Apple, Elton John, Billy Joel
The sound melts like honey and shifts, it’s liquified beauty. I wish I could play, make something beautiful, but for now I’ll just settle on listening
She paused in the hallway and held her breath. She heard the fan buzzing in the next room, the trolley moving down the street, someone scolding a dog outside. After a moment she shook her head and kept walking. Sometimes she could swear she could still hear the music, even though she knew that John and his daughters had moved to Tampa two years before.
The keys of the piano were old. As her fingers brushed them it felts like they were cracking beneath her touch. Then again, it felt like the whole universe had cracked. Ever since it had started, ever since they came, everything had been turned to ash. It had been so long since she had even seen a piano, and so long since she had been able to stop running long enough to admire it.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, dropping onto the seat beside him.
He stared at the ivory white keys in front of him, frowning. “…I forgot the notes.”
“Well then, why don’t you just make up your own?”
He raised his head and blinked up at her, intrigued.
They spent the rest of the day plunking out the notes of their own song.
when i was an young girl i had played the piano. it was very fun and i was a bit to talkative to my piano teacher. so my mother made me quit and then play tennis.
music. jazz. this reminds me of gregoy porter. max convinced me to go before the 2nd semester bar review and it was such an amazing show. i had never heard a piano live before in that setting it was absolutely amazing and i can’t wait to hear another jazz concert live. this 60 second thing is hard to do and it makes me nervous haha.
It was supposedly just a school project; to look for a classical piece by piano and make my own interpretation of it. Back then i was not so enthused with pianos, or any form of classical music for that matter. I was never going to take it seriously. So i chose quickly and lightheartedly the first classical piece i found. It was a Beethoven sonata i believe. I cannot even remember which one. Only i remember how i was the first time i heard it. It did not make sense. I had to struggle. I had to repeat it several times. Until somewhere in the middle of the piece i saw an image of an old man in a straw hat. He was walking leisurely and then suddenly, he accidentally came across a beehive. He was chased by bees and ran all over the place. It was a very simple image, and yet it did enough to move me. Perhaps i am over-romanticizing what happened. But know what i felt. I saw music and i fell in love, the first time i truly did.
My fingers move with the deftness that can only be explained as prodigal. Sharp notes cut through the air like bullets. Slowly, they begin to drop both in tone and cadence, until finally nothing but a dull siren of noise remains.
She sat at the piano, willing her fingers to play, to forget what was plaguing her mind. To be distracted in the music was all she needed, escapism is addictive you know.
Music playing softly, drifting through the chambers until it reached him as a faint echo of what it had been. He starts, leaves his work and his disaster, follows the song until he reaches the source.
She is playing quietly, softly, only for herself. He leans in the doorway. She does not know he is there.
I never loved the sound of the piano more then I did right then. The war, killing and hardware over and once again we sit together in peace and listen to the piano
My fingers hit the ivory keys as I played my hands across the piano. I still had it. The crowd watched in awe.
“How old is that piano now?” Paul asked.
Edith smiled and shook her head. “I’m not sure by now,” she replied. “Sixty years? Seventy? My father played it for me all the time. When the storms got bad, it was the sound of his improvised sonatas in minor keys that helped me ignore the lightning and thunder.”
She stood up to get another cookie from the table, then fetched the kettle for Paul. Paul, however, wasn’t interested in drinking any more tea. He was more interested in the conversation.
Its sound spread through the whole floor. He played it almost as skilfully as he would a lady, but with piano, he was in a mutual love.
The soft rinkling of the piano acted as a beacon, a musical trail of breadcrumbs that led her to precisely where she wanted to go.
She moved into the den and paused midstride, leaning back against the doorframe to watch as her girlfriend loving coaxed the deceptively simple tune from the ivories.
The music drifted upstairs like the smell of a burning candle. Sarah hadn’t played in ages, that was what brought me downstairs. Curiosity as to what had healed my broken sister.
My hands hovered over the keys.
“Should I?”
It’d been so long – they might be waiting for me.
I pressed down one key. The grand piano resounded with the note. My heart swelled.
They can wait.
i wish i could play the piano but ill be happy with my abilities today. maybe one day ill pick it up. maybe one day ill stop talking about some days and maybe maydays.
“Piano!” piano falls on him. “OW! WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS!?”