respektor

Your fragile beauty struck me.  I watched you stand there, bright in the spotlight, blinking out to all of us.  You wriggled on the piano bench like a four year old, ready for her piano lesson.  You told us you were nervous.  You adjusted your skirt seven times (I counted) before your fingers touched the keys.

But then they did.  And you weren’t fragile anymore.  You were a pillar of strength, a force of genius, a torrent of power.  I watched you, enthralled and enchanted.  The beauty was dark and terrible and I could not look away.

Don’t stop playing.