Michael sat at the piano. His fingers moved over the keys. It was a song he had once considered among his favorites of those he knew. He had been asked once to play it on cello his cello for a musical program during sacrament meeting. He played it now, seeing if he could hear in it what he had once felt. To hear it you would describe it as sad, melonchaly, but full of the spirit of comfort and faith.



Michael sat at the piano. His fingers playing the keys, but for him he was just listening to the sound made by the mallet striking the wire. While it could be described as beautiful, to him it sounded like simply a slow procession of notes. It was without meaning. He sighed and let the vibratons fade from the air, knowing what he wanted he couldn't have.