...I failed. I DID give up on my blog. Damn my procrastination.
Yeah, I know...7 months is some SERIOUS procrastination, but I've been dead for most of that. (Creatively at least). SUDDENLY HOWEVER, things are changing. For one, I'm back. Secondly, I'm 18 now, I've cut my hair, I'm in a happy relationship with a wonderful girl (Hello Ceri!) and...oh yeah, I officially finish my 14 years of standardised education as of Friday next week. FUN!
So yeeeees...things HAVE happened in my away-time, namely I screwed up my English course and got kicked off. *Ahem*...I'm a terrible student. Still, I look at it this way...7 months of my life have disappeared, I haven't drawn nearly enough because of the detrimental effect of A-Levels annnnd nobody really cares. So yeah. Let's start again from this point, just in time for the summer hols and my school prom! Huzzah, I know you are entertained.
Oh yeah, met my brother for the first time in 13 years recently...best birthday present ever! =D
So...what to say...hm, getting back in to this blogging jazz is difficult. Welp, today I am making a birthday card and doing necessary things to succeed in my one remaining A-Level, drama. Tomorrow, I am doing more of the same, sans birthday card. Hm...thrilling stuff I know. Still, it doesn't have to be, this is just my warm-up! You folks just wait and see what I have in store for y'all...(Seriously, WAIT...I have no idea, it hasn't happened yet.) For now, a story I wrote yesterday devoted to the events of my afternoon...ah, not RIGHT now though...internet just died. Back soon.
Ah, there we go, back. Like no time at all for you folks eh? Time travel is a magnificent invention.
So yes...story.
It is a Friday afternoon in early summer when I find her first, the girl at the Piano. No sounds piercing the warm air save for those few tranquil notes betrayed by slender fingers on that melancholy instrument. I run in to the hall where she plays, intruding upon her peace, a crude taint upon the moment. A brief hello and I leave quickly, humiliated at my interruption. In minutes, I find myself back where I entered, drawn only to listen in on her playing, enraptured in the dream she purveys.
20 minutes pass by so quickly, unnoticed by me, as with the people who pass me by as I lean against a corridor wall, swimming in the water of phonics, lost in my mind and the piano girls music, enjoying every second as if it were an hour in the experience. The music breaks, the dream has ended, woven to its point, but I remain transfixed on memory alone, lost, but content. Eyes closed, I hear the piano girl close her instrument, collect her music, and walk away. I know she passes me and I believe she sees me, shocked at my hiding, though I say nothing. I want to applaud her, to tell her she has captured my heart and may keep it, sealed within a gilded cage should she so desire, but please, play on. I say none of these things, settling instead to bask in the resulting silence, savouring those sweet, luxurious tones…
An exultant, raucous noise, harsh on the ears, rips me bodily from my illusion and I stand, collect my possessions and move on my way, dream shattered. The memory stays with me as I walk home though, the music from my headphones blanked out completely by the music already in my head.
Home and I sit here now, music fading slowly as memories equally do and I write this, hoping to hold some of the beauty of the piano girls music in my words for others to understand, though I fear I create only a frail image at best.
Pianissimo. The word to describe that whole moment and the architect thereof. The girl, her music, the caress of her fingers over the keys and the light that danced so carefully over her features as she played. All …pianissimo.
Hope y'all enjoyed that little bit of filler. I'm orf now to finish this birthday card etc. I'll write again tomorrow with any luck.
Good to be back folks, a view to the future;
-Azzy-
I particularly like this one...here's a test for you, can YOU spot the Redwatch photographer? It's the only excuse I can come up with for why he was photographing a lone photographer, aka me.
