There's a Love that Transends.

This is my new and improved blog page. I used to do this all of the time, but I poured too much about me when I originally intended to use it as a way to let out my creative energy. This is the rememdy.

An old couch sat in my living room. From years of constant use, the cushions were flattened in the middle with broken seams and protruding cotton held in place by golden painted safety pins. Across the room, an old upright piano sat next to a window of stained glass and cobwebs. It had been quite sometime since I had cleaned this place. The doors were nailed shut and the only entrance was by window. An access ladder lead to this window, but some climbing skills and faith were necessary to enter. I didn't have many guests. I guess "clean" is only relative to the audience a room satisfies. Today, I was going to host a concert. A concerto in Eb. The room was packed with unwanted guests already, and quite a congregation had gathered on my unoccupied couch. The windows were covered with large brown sheets, so I pulled them aside to bring light into the otherwise gloomy room. The piano was heavy, but I managed to drag the heap into the middle of the room. Light hit the keys in a manner that caused the old scrap wood around them to shine like the day it was assembled. I sat down on the bench, which had no wear or signs of aging. As long as I had lived here, I had never stuck a key on this piano. It sat next to the window for as long as my presence had graced the apartment. The window adjacent always made me paranoid that someone was watching, so I'd sit for hours on the couch looking at the piano in anticipation for the disappearing window. Windows aren't very good at making themselves go away.

READ ON TOMORROW.