Perhaps...
It's a slow thing that creeps upon you before you can realize it is there; soft and almost sensual as it caresses your senses, more than just the quiet sound that surrounds you, less than you might expect of such sure and serene music. You can barely discern it from the background noise of the world, and you can't pinpoint when it might have begun, only that it is there now, and it calls to you. There is a message in that music, and if you listen for long enough, if you listen closely enough, perhaps you may find it, understand it, and perhaps it will take you away with its words of a world to which you might have belonged at one point.
Perhaps it is a past you have forgotten, a past you have buried, memories that have been pushed so deeply into your mind that you have never been aware of their presence, but now... now you may remember. You may feel them, that they are there, and they are pleading for you to listen, they are crying out for you to notice, and they are a part of you that has always been missing. With them, perhaps, you will be whole once more.
Perhaps the message is not meant for you, but you have heard nonetheless. You may be taken with a flight of fancy, and the music may be the wings that fly you into such a fairytale of thought. The idea that there is such a possibility, of losing of part of yourself that is never missed until this moment, may occur to you, and you may envision how romantic a notion it is to find yourself again. Sadness may take you, at the gently tragic tone of the tune, at the knowledge that someone has truly lost themselves, if this message is to remind them, and perhaps you will be glad to be merely a voyeur to their journey.
Perhaps it will take you to a vision of a pale stranger sitting before a piano, draped in greys and subtle silvers that seem to suit him well. You may see his form bent forward over the ivory keys, his lithe white fingers playing an intricate dance that still calls you closer as he sways, as taken by the music as you. Then, as his head turns, and his fingers still, those closed lids may open in your direction, and you may be caught by the piercing slate eyes that find you there.
Perhaps it is a past you have forgotten, a past you have buried, memories that have been pushed so deeply into your mind that you have never been aware of their presence, but now... now you may remember. You may feel them, that they are there, and they are pleading for you to listen, they are crying out for you to notice, and they are a part of you that has always been missing. With them, perhaps, you will be whole once more.
Perhaps the message is not meant for you, but you have heard nonetheless. You may be taken with a flight of fancy, and the music may be the wings that fly you into such a fairytale of thought. The idea that there is such a possibility, of losing of part of yourself that is never missed until this moment, may occur to you, and you may envision how romantic a notion it is to find yourself again. Sadness may take you, at the gently tragic tone of the tune, at the knowledge that someone has truly lost themselves, if this message is to remind them, and perhaps you will be glad to be merely a voyeur to their journey.
Perhaps it will take you to a vision of a pale stranger sitting before a piano, draped in greys and subtle silvers that seem to suit him well. You may see his form bent forward over the ivory keys, his lithe white fingers playing an intricate dance that still calls you closer as he sways, as taken by the music as you. Then, as his head turns, and his fingers still, those closed lids may open in your direction, and you may be caught by the piercing slate eyes that find you there.