I must...
begin to write again.
As hands melodically crash against a piano, I'm an estranged foreigner in this audience. A string-bean dark bald head in the mixture. Thin face. A musky Russian man, against the red and gold velour of an opera house. Improperly dressed. Ancient.
Staccato notes, quiet. Start off slowly. Don't run before you've yet learned how to walk.
Mend all wounds.
Hopes he will one day.
First. Maestro.
Listen.
As hands melodically crash against a piano, I'm an estranged foreigner in this audience. A string-bean dark bald head in the mixture. Thin face. A musky Russian man, against the red and gold velour of an opera house. Improperly dressed. Ancient.
Staccato notes, quiet. Start off slowly. Don't run before you've yet learned how to walk.
Mend all wounds.
Hopes he will one day.
First. Maestro.
Listen.