Untitled Story

The flowery w all toldpaper was peeling, dusty cobwebs hung from the corners of the room and next to the windowpane was an old woman playing a piano, its keys yellow from eld of melodies; a memoir waiting for any(prenominal)one to give it crapper its voice so that it can sing the story of the juvenile again. Her fingers were dancing grace aboundingy, her look closed and her body swaying, completely stir in the music so pleasingly inundated with nostalgia and awful emotions. The moreover source of light came from a golden lamp on top of the piano. The long shadow cast behind her belonged a lady much younger and fair. One who was rather frivolous and didnt realize how fortunate she was to be living and not only if existing. She remembered that his glove felt damp and cool in hers. He had been strangely silent that night and avoided looking at her, his look distracted and distant. She was silent and numb with anguish as he released her give. He didnt speak. He didnt need to. She already knew. His eyes had told her, his hold had told her. The wind whispered melancholy and rushed into wounds of the heart. Her foolish hand be suck inched him to stay, reaching lifelessly towards him.

She never looked up once to see the only man, who she had truly loved, walk foster and further extraneous from her life. Trust is the just about beautiful crystal but the also the most fragile. It shatters when tempered with lies and mistakes. It shatters. Then, no matter how hard you try to patch up the embarrassed pieces and try to glue them back unneurotic again, there provide always be cra cks buried indistinct within some pieces ca! n never be recovered. He had taken all the pieces with him, leaving only guilt... If you want to cleave a full essay, order it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com

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