muse

'what will you do when the war is over?'
'I'll play the piano again, on the polish radio.'


and that is the one of the most beautiful things that has ever been said.

and this is my life now. contained within the walls of a florescent lighted room staring at the excuses and emotionless letters. There is no hall with a grand piano behind the conductor, not that there ever was. There is nothing resonating in the air. No, there is no stage for me anymore.

do you remember when every breath we drew was music?

I wish- well there isn't really any point wishing.