Disclaimer: Twilight is not mine. It is the property of Stephenie Meyer.
The Pianist
Each note sang out into the still morning air. Piercing the ear drums like an arrow through the heart, the soft tone haunted me. It followed me everywhere; a constant ringing in the back of my mind. A heavy mist seeped in from the open windows. I shut my eyes and allowed my fingers to move of their own accord. They grazed the keys in a melodically poignant rhythm. The music twirled in my head, dancing and waltzing across the room. She wore a simple white dress, her soft brown hair splaying out around her and hiding her face from view. Swaying from side to side in a fluid, gentle motion, she had never felt so alive. Her movements were slow and graceful, solemn and emotional. A product of my creation; she was my desire, my love, my despair.
No one was home. I was not performing for anyone other than myself. Every keystroke struck my heart in a different place. It brought tears to my eyes that would never fall. The low notes beat and echoed in my head like a drum.
A ballad that would never be written down on a piece of paper to be read. This poetry would be played, like all deep poems should. This song would not be recorded on sheet music, but in my heart. There was no better place to put it for safe keeping.
The air reeked of the rain that cleansed the world of its sin and leaving behind only her. It swept across the room and burned my skin and I knew that it was seeking my destruction; it knew what I was.
Luring me toward her trap, the girl hugged me close and I sunk into her embrace and let the music take control. She watched my hands move with practiced ease on the grand piano. Its sheen glimmered and glistened in the morning sun. Fascinated, she leaned forward. The keys collapsed under my fingers as they propelled forward. The ivory melted into my hands like wax, consuming them like the greatest treasure.
My muse was fading. I slowly lost the rhythm and the music died. The beautiful, faceless girl burst into a cluster of birds that immediately flocked from the room and sought refuge in the woods. I sighed. Perhaps she will return again.
I engraved the melody into my heart. It became the tale of my sorrows, of my hatred, of my life. But there was something more to it. This was my story that I have written, but I don't quite know what it could mean.
My hands fell down to my side. I knew what this was. It was a love song.