The song sung through my fingers.
He played the piano as I laid on the sofa, reading a book.
The sun was peeking into the room through tall, arched windows.
The wind was gently moving the curtains.
A patterned carpet covered the old wooden floor.
The fireplace sat still.
My thoughts drifted away into a cabin in the woods.
Playing the piano with open doors.
Forest creatures gathering to listen to it.
Almost like in a fairy tale.
Fingers dancing on the keys.
Playing the piano was I.
I opened my eyes to look through the windows.
Green, lush trees swayed in the wind.
Watching him and myself was I.
From another corner of the room.
Such a beautiful melody.
Singing to my soul.
He was playing the piano.
He was I.
