The piano immediately draws my curiosity, perking my attention as I saunter near the smoothed wooden blanket of pure white, carefully coating the winter schemed instrument.
The sparkling white keys brighten with an ivory silk-like texture, in which emanates the most melodious sound as I gently press my finger on the magical key. Above those float thinner, pitch black ones that can easily catch the reflection of my fingers reaching across the series of repeating keys, constantly duplicating itself until they reach the end of the long, stretching keyboard.
The mesmerizing pitches sing an endless song of beauty in my ears as I listen to myself play, my fingers dancing gracefully across the giant keyboard of wondrous notes. For a brief moment, I am trapped within the fantasies of tinkling silver bells bringing forth their alternating pitches eternally bouncing off the walls of my head.
As if lost in a wonderful vivid dream, I am scared to cease the beauties of my music for it may waver the the sounds of the piano.
Every feeling possible seems to pour out from the sea of my emotions and expose itself within the music I play. Sorrow and depression, happiness and joy. Nothing could interrupt my playing of an improvising story seeming to play itself as it chants a fairytale. My own world, my own story is sung by the voice of this melodious piano, never failing to strip me off the existence of reality.
I am unable to separate myself from playing and act as a complete deaf person, engulfed entirely inside my own tune. I am powerless against the songs of this winter colored piano.