colored.

[nudesoul6]

[rnetronomes-blog]

                                           A muse to a musician is like an oxygen tank to a scuba diver.

Faint sounding footsteps trailed the concrete floor as he held dozens of thin but empty notebooks. He was calm and his walking rather slow as he watched people, how they talked and moved their hands to put emphasis on some of the words, how they shifted their weight from one foot to the other while waiting at the bus stop, how they looked at each other and judged at some of the things the other had. He wasn’t a judgmental person himself, so he handed out a notebook to some of the people and said no more than ten words.

“Hello! Read the first page and please think about it.”

Sometimes people would give the notebook back, which was nice if they weren’t really gonna read the page and consider it. As he passed through strangers, he stopped by a homeless person and knelt down as they were sitting down on the floor themselves. He wished them a good day and flashed a smile at them, which he got one back. He reached for his messenger bag and pulled out one of his self-proclaimed famous egg sandwiches wrapped in a resealable bag and handed it to her. He placed a notebook next to her and then searched his bag for two pencils, placing it over the notebook.

“Hello! My name is Kang Minhyuk. I’m a famous piano prodigy. What will be written in this notebook will be your story, your thoughts, your art, your words. I would be honored if you would be my muse. I’m composing a numerous amount of songs and making a compilation which tells the story of each of you with just my piano. You may keep this notebook for as long as you’d like until you think i’d be ready to compose a song with you as my muse. This can be completely anonymous, and although I might have looked at you when I gave you this notebook, I might not remember your face. If you’d like to be more involved, you may contact me. This is your story, not mine.”

This was written on the first page, along with his phone number, address, and email. For him, the feeling and color of the way you play the composition is the most important thing. He wanted to be a pianist that understands others feelings too, and that will get people to appreciate classical music more. He got up and kept handing out more notebooks, silently begging people to give him a chance. 

Weeks after, he received a couple of notebooks, not many, but he was happy for this achievement either way. It wasn’t until he got an unexpected visitor at the door where he was at his happiest with the result of his plan there at the other side of the door was the woman he had given his sandwich to with a notebook in her hand. The woman didn’t look homeless anymore and without a word, she handed him a notebook with each page filled with her thoughts, story, the recovery of her old life. All he could do was smile at her, and even when he tried to stop, he couldn’t. 

“Thank you for letting me know your story” He said and he bowed to her, which she returned with grace. She then walked away, there was no need for more words, no more than what’s written in that notebook. He watched her walk away and closed the door. The male immediately opened the notebook and looked at the second page after his own, it only had two lines written on it:

“The sandwich tasted amazing. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me something to eat that day.”

[cnholic622]

[150610 Kang MinHyuk weibo update] @kangminhyuk91: 大家好～好久不见！👍🏻 the class 촬영 중 입니다! 모두 보고싶어요! 더운 날씨지만 모두 加油!!!!

[serenitvy]

[  ✘ ]

[rnetronomes-blog]

Before the male exited his apartment, the male lifted a small switch that pulled the large curtains that let his place be brightened by daylight. He looked at the music sheets on the floor, there had to be more than three dozens of sheets on the floor. This was the aftermath of last nights session, the male was trying to find the right tune that would explain the troubled individual that volunteered to be one of his muses for his upcoming piano sonata.

He headed out, not minding to tidy up before he did. His destination after that being the coffee shop not far from there, where the tables had coffee stains, the air was filled with words that escaped people’s lips and where he had to meet an official from a musical prodigy competition. He caressed the mug given to him as he passed the tip of his thumb over a thin crack that contrasted the white finish. He was interrupted by the woman that had come from far to meet with him.

The sudden voice startled him off his chair and he masked it by quickly taking off his sunglasses and bowing to greet the woman. The woman asked a favor to him; to meet with the winner of their competition. When, he was young, he had to do many of these competitions and he would have loved to meet with a prodigy himself. But, he had to wonder one thing.

“How would meeting me be helpful to those people? If they’re in a prodigious competition, they would be no different than what I am. I’d be equal to those competitors. I’m not much of a prize.” Minhyuk said, curiously honest of what role he’d have in the winner’s life.

“These competitors see you as someone who would teach them what is to be achieved with a lot of hard work. They’re students, they’ll see you as inferior.. If that is what you wish.” The woman said. Minhyuk laughed and shook his head and his hands.

“It is not, it would be awkward for me if it was like that. But, do I have something to teach these kids?”

“Do you honestly think you don’t?” At this, Minhyuk’s grin faded and he took a deep breath.                                                              ---- -- ---- He was asked out of the room he was secretly in and was brought outside to vote. Before that, he watched their performances on a television in said room. They were all talented in his eyes, but they all lacked something important to him, the lack of color in their performances, although this was a competition and they had to perfect their chosen compositions as the composer had written them. His vote, like many others was to the eventual winner, because you can tell that he was passionate about what he did, of course they all were, but with this one boy, you could tell by the way his fingers moved from chord to chord. He was watching the winner’s performance for one more time as it was the one that caught his attention the most and midway in, he was interrupted by a knock on the door, making him pause the footage and get up from his seat and greet the male. He raised a hand to stop the other from bowing to him, and instead bowed to the other himself.

“Congratulations on winning. It’s was a pleasure listening to you.” He said as he raised his head and flashed a smile at the other.

[rnetronomes-blog]

ｏｄｄ

usvgii

The sound of his clock was all he heard as he laid in bed. The wrinkled sheets concealed him from the shy rays of the sun that tried to take a peak at him between his curtains. Hesitant to move out of comfort of his bed, he whined to the empty room, complained at the clock and begged the sun to give him a few more minutes. His childlessness was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing--

                                Chopin’s Fantaisie Impromptu, Op. 66 --

He sat up, his bed sheets still covering his head and he took out one of his hands out from under the sheet to grab his phone and brought it under the temporary home he had under the fabric. The phone was cold, it kind of beat the purpose to be under the sheets if he placed a cold, plastic phone on the side of his face. On the other side of the line was his manager who asked him if he had worked on the composition he was supposed to that day. He pushed the sheets off of himself and looked at the clock, the hands signaling it was a little over two in the afternoon. He ended the call prematurely and pulled himself out of bed.

His feet dragged themselves to his grand piano, not bothering to fix his bedhead or even get out of his pajamas. He picked up a tortured notebook which was filled about half way. He read it through for hours with having sudden interruption of his fingers pressing specific keys, looking for the particular mood that the written material was in. After hours and hours, he had a couple of minutes down. Stopping after every few seconds to write down his music onto the music sheet.

[rnetronomes-blog]

                            ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌                         follow&reblog                       literate&selective based on the anime “your lie in april”

[mushokunosekai]