To see fingers dance across the keys of a piano, creating music that would make a deaf man cry, is salt being stomped into the wound of my own ineptitude
They torture me with their gluttony Indulging in the fruits of their labor While I’ve been left to starve
The pianist plays and the audience looks on, listening to the notes weave together into a beautiful song. Music fills the air, a deafening display of perfection, until...
a single sour note strikes the ears of the audience. It grates against my skin, a delightful feeling. The pianist carry’s on, with determination not to fail again,
But I hold on to their mistake, the sour note sweetly ringing in my ears. I play it over and over again in my head, each time it brings the pianist closer down towards my level
It is my greatest pleasure to know, that such divine music, can be made by someone human
I revel in their failure, and I am worse off for it