Today is a special occasion. Happy Birthdays ring out like exploding confetti. By default, I have become a snack platter, my top high enough to stymie an obese cat, but low enough for serving food. Party guests idle to consume the buffet---savoury fare replacing the framed photographs of every day.
How I miss the sound of metal against string, the skilled touch of a musician.
With muted hope, I note the aging woman sitting on the bench as she turns around to face me. Her hands linger above my keys.
“I’m a little bit rusty, but here goes.
”
Ahhhh….
How I miss the sound of metal against string, the skilled touch of a musician.
With muted hope, I note the aging woman sitting on the bench as she turns around to face me. Her hands linger above my keys.
“I’m a little bit rusty, but here goes.
”
Ahhhh….
