Taking chances

There is a room. A room where moonlight shines through the window; And the light shines upon an upright piano. The curtains flutter in the whispering wind. There is silence.

At least near total silence: the piano tinkles a soft melody reminiscent of a music box. If one were to look closely, one might see the shadow of a man at the keys, fingers dancing elegantly and softly over the high register of the piano. Perhaps it is a man; perhaps it is the memory of a man.

And yet perhaps the man was, but is no longer. Perhaps the sweet music is but a figment of the imagination of a sentimental writer.

The memories are real.

Imagine the scene of the piano room fading before your eyes. The scene changes to that of a mundane suburb. A dim lit street, and a solitary girl walking upon it. She is safe, but she does not know what lay outside.

She wonders what it's like, to be free and yet protected. She longs to know that there is something more out there than just the tiny world she grew up to believe in. She wants to feel the love of another, for once, even if for the first and last time.

Brought up to not question. Still she questions if there is more to all that, though in silence. Life cannot be just about college, job and family. Why spend a life working for another? Why not forge a path of her own?

An uncertain amount of time passes. But who cares for the thing man calls time, for it is but an illusion, a lie to comfort man that he is in control.

In the distance she sees the silhouette of a boy. The boy is familiar, perhaps from a memory, or a dream, or a memory of a dream. She does not know.

She smiles and races after his outline. A step into the unknown.