The piano sings a sad song.

A song of love.

A song of pain.

A song of war.

When the bloodshed ripped my soul till there was no more…

You were there.

You let me lay beside you, your warmth easing my soul, your golden hair blanketing my fears.

Ours was a love born from the fires of war, the blood of innocents…

The need to know we weren’t monsters…

That we could still give our hearts to another.

Through out the war our love played sadly on blood stained piano keys.

Even now, years after, it still plays.

The keys are wiped clean, gleaming glossy and white.

But there’s still blood, I see it between the keys, deep in the darkness of the past.

And you are still there to love me, to show me I’m not a murderer, a monster.

END