The room was rigid. It became very cold and dark. No matter how many times they told her she didn’t believe it. The only escape from emotional bondage was to express the hurt in the only way she knew how. Through music. Sitting on the cold bench she grabbed the sides and pulled herself toward her passion. So young, and had already experienced a heart wrenching loss. The soul of the piano called out to her as she gently brushed her fingernail bitten hands onto the old, off-white, keys. Pressing down on them as to relieve the ache. The dusty, wooden, stand up music box had 88 beautiful tones to explore. None of the notes were found on paper, and even if they were she couldn’t read them. The scribble on the page gave anxiety, and defeated the purpose of playing for her. Every piece created was rarely duplicated since nothing was recorded, nor in the moment remembered. Her ears were her guide, and her heart the muse. She prayed, and let pure feeling and raw emotion move her fingers. Eyes closed, it was as if the keys could feel the tears landing on them. Her fingers slipping off the ivory with each drop. Breathing in and out, one with the piano. It felt like angels were holding her shoulders; rocking her back and forth to the movement of the tones that were melting together under her once clenched fists. Having never heard this song or anything like it, she knew it was a gift. Opening her eyes she felt…….peace.