She plays on into the night.
She cries as she plays, the notes that slip through her fingers are beautiful, as she feels she never will be.
But she is so beautiful to him.
To him, she is everything.
She plays without a care, without a thought. She plays to feel. The harmonious sounds are sometimes interrupted by harsh discordant notes, but she never stops. The melody is what keeps her alive, awake. The melody is what keeps her breathing, and she needs it to survive. Sometimes she stops, and lays her pale cheeks against the keys. She breathes in the scent of her piano, closes her eyes and just sees. She sees in her mind the tune that plays in her heart, and it rejuvenates her, allowing her to continue playing.
She must play.
It is not just that she needs to, but she must. It is everything to her. All she needs, all she dreams.
He watches her play, everyday, without fail. He sits by his windowsill and watches as her elegant fingers glide over the keys, the sounds that escape continuously pulling at his heartstrings. He watches her and smiles, because she is so captivating in her state of utter enthrallment with the music.
She knows of nothing but her piano.
He knows of nothing but her.