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“I wanted to honor her with the music we had shared. She used to listen to me play, correct me, encourage me. She was like a teacher, but better. She was my support, and she truly loved my music. She didn’t know it, but I played for her. To make her happy. To keep her close. When the melody ended, I played it again and again until my fingers hurt so badly I could no longer continue. And in that moment I realized I would never be able to play the piano the same way again. Every note had been for her. Every sound had been about her. Now it all felt empty, suddenly stripped of meaning.” — Dari A. Malaunt
I wanted to honor her with the music we had shared. She used to listen to me play, correct me, encourage me. She was like a teacher, but better. She was my support, and she truly loved my music. She didn’t know it, but I played for her. To make her happy. To keep her close.
When the melody ended, I played it again and again until my fingers hurt so badly I could no longer continue. And in that moment I realized I would never be able to play the piano the same way again. Every note had been for her. Every sound had been about her. Now it all felt empty, suddenly stripped of meaning.