(no subject)
There is sweet music coming from the bar's piano, tonight: a high, lilting almost-melody hovering above a slow, deliberate foundation of bass chords. Soaring notes wind like a kite this way and that, catching itself to pause in the air for a long moment, until the tension sends it stumbling, shifting again on the breeze to one side or the other. It is a very old sound, the music of an ancient ache found centered somewhere within the ribcage: the desire for something more, for there to be something more to desire. The musician's pale fingers shift lightly on the keys, the high, sweet loneliness singing to the bar of something eternal.