A year ago, the same day, in a stair well I met this little one that was so interesting I couldn't compel myself to lift the pedal and let the sounds go off. So on and on those notes, flying around the hall, bouncing around creating harmonies never before heard. Although through time, vibrations will wear off, but even the slightest of the remaining sound created such beauty of melody that wouldn't pale before the Seven Sins.
And so the composer decided to take down the notes and spread it wide around the world. So he went to buy papers, quills, ink, staff roller, piano, everything that were necessary, everything.
The next morning, they were gone, literally, gone. Nothing moved, the well stared at me like the eye, consuming what was to be divine. Everything just stopped.
Slowly dying away.
Little by little.
Including the composer.
Me.
Diminuendo.
Yves.
Diminuendo.
Yves.
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