when august met may

                My fingers pressed against the keys like glass pressing my throat.

                                                                                                                                                        Not pain but uncomfortable.

                     Crescendo made blood grow  cold. 

Sound is getting closer.

                                      Water in my eyes didn't  help the strength through my fingers. 

                                                               The harder I press the key the lighter I lose myself.

                       I never liked piano. Or guitar. Or dancing.  

Pushing the keys, was pushing a brick wall.

                                                                                                                                                     .