sat, darkness surrounding me. The fire was the only source of light in the room.
My fingers danced across the ivories, while he stood still, listening—
staring at the fire.
The silence between us echoed through the space.
Nothing could be heard but the music; notes playing between life and death.
What have I given?
What has been taken from me?
Have I ever been?
Will I ever be?
He's here. He's near.
And every note I play speaks of a lingering reproach.
Then—everything fades.
It’s just me, him, and the piano...
pressing the keys of existence.
My dear friend. My long-awaited guest.
Who was there in every pause, every echo, every breath I drew.
The time has finally come to say our last goodbye.
“You’re here,” I whisper.
“I’ve always been,” he answers.
2025-05-12 23:39:47
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