Piano Creative Writing

My mom has always told me that deep, deep inside me, buried by layers of my heart there was a love for music, burning bright like the heart of a fire. A fire that could never be vanquished, yearning with hunger for the time it could come out, struggling. It came out when I was five, when I started playing piano. Music really was like an instinct to me, a second nature. A talent that had always been there, but was just waiting to come out. Back then music was an enigmatic magic to me. To master it was like trudging up an endless hill. I looked up greatly at my teacher, and was always in awe when I listened to the awe-inspiring skills my teacher had acquired go to work. I always wondered about the day I would obtain such expertise. It really was magic as the flowing notes bounded across my ears.

The jubilation when I saw the great black piano, gleaming in the light. The shock by just the prospect of having and using something so sophisticated. The wonder when I saw such a massive and complicated instrument. It was then my love for music emerged, trailing behind instinct. The excited thoughts that thundered through my mind are still deeply imprinted in my mind. For four years, I played piano. For four years I grew closer and closer. And for four years I acquired great skills too and traveled through the years of music. The time was so truly worth it. The smiles and grins it brought my teachers and parents and the light it brought too. The happiness it made me fill, and how it made me so proud. I still remember the moment I won twenty dollars. My mom and me were sitting on a chair. I was wearing formal clothes, my heart beating in my