Piano Man
"What's your inspiration?"
The piano sounded different in the small apartment. Here, it had to be played quieter, but the sound was warmer, made the place really feel like home. It was one of the few things that truly did. And watching him play was something in itself. She could see him lose himself in the piece, and she smiled to herself as she watched from the staircase, settled onto one of the steps, her head against the wall.
And hearing him sing, well, that was one of the true treasures of living in a smaller apartment. His voice was never much more than a whisper here, and it rarely seemed as though he knew she could hear him. He sounded like he was writing as he went, the music set but the words subject to change. In some parts, he sang a few words that fit well together, and in other parts, he hummed quietly, composing the rest in his head.
Why they’d decided that a small city apartment would be better, she’d never know, but she knew that she always forgot about the size on days like these, when he would wake up before her, have a cup of coffee, and then sit down at the piano to write music for the world. It was his therapy, his anti-everything, when staring at notebooks just wouldn’t cut it. This was his coping device for when she was asleep or working or escaping, and she’d always thought that him escaping to his piano was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
His hands, always gentle, pressed at the keys in some parts and dusted over them in others, and some days, like today, his lips curved upward into the tiniest of smiles, and she was convinced that their life in this apartment wasn’t so terrible. Certainly, their jobs could allow them a larger space, but they’d agreed on this because it felt like home.
She could still smell the coffee he’d made an hour ago, and she’d been able to hear the piano all the way in their bedroom, at the back of the hallway past the stairs. She could hear the few birds left in the city chirping away, and from the bottom of the stairs, she could see the sunlight dipping pleasantly through their open kitchen window, and it warmed her heart as much as the sight of him at the piano.
This was their oasis in the midst of the grind.
When he stopped playing, he looked peaceful, and there was still a faint hint of a smile on his lips as he lifted his head and glanced toward the staircase, his smile widening when he saw her. His hands rested on the keys for a moment, his fingertips brushing over the ivory, and then he rose from the small bench in one fluid motion, and he walked over to her.
She got up, too, and she settled her head onto his shoulder once he’d greeted her with a soft kiss, her arms resting around his neck and her form pressing against his as his arms around her waist held her warmly to him. She smiled; she could still smell the shampoo he’d used to wash his hair hours ago, and she could smell the faint cologne he wore when he was home because of moments like this.
She felt his lips gently kissing the top of her head, and she let her arms hang loosely around his neck as she lifted her head and leaned back a little to look up at him. One of his hands reached up to touch her cheek, and he brushed her hair back before letting his arm slide around her once more. “Haven’t heard you play like that in a while.”
He let his head dip forward, and his forehead gently nudged hers. His eyes were light and warm as he held her gaze, and he chuckled as he kissed her forehead, as well. “Yeah, I know.” It was beautiful, how soft his voice could be, and she grinned at him.
“What’s your inspiration?”
His hand lifted to touch her cheek again, and then his fingers curled gently beneath her chin as he tipped her head back just enough for him to gently press his lips to hers. She could feel his smile against her mouth as he kissed her, and she raised an eyebrow at him, just slightly, just enough to question. He kissed her again, and then he chuckled, as though the answer was obvious.
“Well?”
He smiled, chuckling again, and she raised both eyebrows at him. “You,” he said, and his soft laughter continued. “Silly, silly girl, my inspiration is always you.” Her eyebrows relaxed, and she felt like a teenager again as her heart panged and she melted into him, her forehead rested against his. His fingertips lightly brushed along the curve of her spine, pressing lightly the way he did when he played the piano, and his voice was soft as he hummed the song he’d just been writing for her, and she could escape with him as they both closed their eyes.
I love you.
And hearing him sing, well, that was one of the true treasures of living in a smaller apartment. His voice was never much more than a whisper here, and it rarely seemed as though he knew she could hear him. He sounded like he was writing as he went, the music set but the words subject to change. In some parts, he sang a few words that fit well together, and in other parts, he hummed quietly, composing the rest in his head.
Why they’d decided that a small city apartment would be better, she’d never know, but she knew that she always forgot about the size on days like these, when he would wake up before her, have a cup of coffee, and then sit down at the piano to write music for the world. It was his therapy, his anti-everything, when staring at notebooks just wouldn’t cut it. This was his coping device for when she was asleep or working or escaping, and she’d always thought that him escaping to his piano was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
His hands, always gentle, pressed at the keys in some parts and dusted over them in others, and some days, like today, his lips curved upward into the tiniest of smiles, and she was convinced that their life in this apartment wasn’t so terrible. Certainly, their jobs could allow them a larger space, but they’d agreed on this because it felt like home.
She could still smell the coffee he’d made an hour ago, and she’d been able to hear the piano all the way in their bedroom, at the back of the hallway past the stairs. She could hear the few birds left in the city chirping away, and from the bottom of the stairs, she could see the sunlight dipping pleasantly through their open kitchen window, and it warmed her heart as much as the sight of him at the piano.
This was their oasis in the midst of the grind.
When he stopped playing, he looked peaceful, and there was still a faint hint of a smile on his lips as he lifted his head and glanced toward the staircase, his smile widening when he saw her. His hands rested on the keys for a moment, his fingertips brushing over the ivory, and then he rose from the small bench in one fluid motion, and he walked over to her.
She got up, too, and she settled her head onto his shoulder once he’d greeted her with a soft kiss, her arms resting around his neck and her form pressing against his as his arms around her waist held her warmly to him. She smiled; she could still smell the shampoo he’d used to wash his hair hours ago, and she could smell the faint cologne he wore when he was home because of moments like this.
She felt his lips gently kissing the top of her head, and she let her arms hang loosely around his neck as she lifted her head and leaned back a little to look up at him. One of his hands reached up to touch her cheek, and he brushed her hair back before letting his arm slide around her once more. “Haven’t heard you play like that in a while.”
He let his head dip forward, and his forehead gently nudged hers. His eyes were light and warm as he held her gaze, and he chuckled as he kissed her forehead, as well. “Yeah, I know.” It was beautiful, how soft his voice could be, and she grinned at him.
“What’s your inspiration?”
His hand lifted to touch her cheek again, and then his fingers curled gently beneath her chin as he tipped her head back just enough for him to gently press his lips to hers. She could feel his smile against her mouth as he kissed her, and she raised an eyebrow at him, just slightly, just enough to question. He kissed her again, and then he chuckled, as though the answer was obvious.
“Well?”
He smiled, chuckling again, and she raised both eyebrows at him. “You,” he said, and his soft laughter continued. “Silly, silly girl, my inspiration is always you.” Her eyebrows relaxed, and she felt like a teenager again as her heart panged and she melted into him, her forehead rested against his. His fingertips lightly brushed along the curve of her spine, pressing lightly the way he did when he played the piano, and his voice was soft as he hummed the song he’d just been writing for her, and she could escape with him as they both closed their eyes.
I love you.
♠ ♠ ♠
Feedback is love.