When I moved into my apartment, I didn’t realise it meant constant entertainment. And I don’t even know the guy. Okay, we said hello a few times and I know that he’s called Dan something, but that’s all. Yet every night, around 7 pm, while I’m doing the reading for the next day, there it is. A mellow, beautiful piano melody. Every single night. And it is amazing. When I hear it, I always smile. I imagine him sitting in front of his piano wearing jeans and some old T-shirt, but he’s playing like he’s playing in front of an audience.
So when the next day I get home a bit late, I sit down on my couch with a text book in my hand waiting for the perfect tune. But it doesn’t come. Maybe he’s not home, I think. There’s no piano music that night.
Ahh the feels
neurotypicalellie 