the la...

the last time he touched a piano he fell apart halfway through the third line of a waltz. his hands started moving faster, the key signatures were inverted, and he'd stopped counting long ago were among the common public excuses. he lost something in that rest. the first, and perhaps only teacher he ever had gave him a pen. stories have to end sometime.after the audience left; he took himself apart, and curled his disproportionately thin body on the piano bench. this is why he doesn't touch pianos anymore. try to remember the postcards that were lost in the mail. this season is melting away and i've tried desperately to assemble something with the piano pen. it's a symphony, and it's disappearing like a vacuum through my fingers. this has always been a fistful of sand.