; penitusxdaemon
A world of his own creation: whether it be peaceful, bubbly, melancholic, the decision was his and his alone. No longer did he have a teacher to dictate the path his music chose, nor did he have an audience to impress.
It was just Soul, by the boy and for the boy.
He played with his soul, not caring where his hands journeyed, which melody drifted from the piano, where the song was going. Did he even have a destination? No, he was just wandering, happy to idle in this limbo, relieved he’d found a healthy escape from reality.
His hands glided over ivory keys with practiced ease, and with his mind wrapped around the lilting tune, Soul didn’t mind that he’d left the door open; his music floated freely from the practice room, almost beckoning a listener.
