Untitled Story

The flowery wallpaper was peeling, dusty cobwebs hung from the corners of the room and next to the window was an old woman playing a piano, its keys yellow from years of melodies; a memoir waiting for someone to give it back its voice so that it can sing the story of the past again. Her fingers were dancing gracefully, her eyes closed and her body swaying, completely inebriated in the music so beautifully inundated with nostalgia and ineffable emotions. The only source of light came from a golden lamp on top of the piano. …