Gemotions

The old piano, gathering dust in the living room, beckoned to her. She hesitated, her fingers itching to play. For years she hadn’t. She sat at the bench, her fingers hovering over the keys. The keys felt cold beneath her touch, the wood smooth from countless years of playing.

She closed her eyes, and the music flooded back to her – the scales she’d practiced endlessly, the pieces she'd loved and hated, the concerts she’d given as a child. A single tear traced a path down her cheek. She pressed the keys, and the familiar notes filled the room, a language she had never forgotten.

Her mother entered the room, and sat at the other end of the bench, and began playing along, quietly. The harmony was perfect, a connection woven through time.