Jazz musicians; they sway with the rhythm. They smile and nod as they play. They squint their eyes in the middle of a song, and just from looking at their expression, you can feel the emotion on stage.
They wear hats. Glasses, sometimes. They play sax, clarinet, bass, piano. They play their hearts on brass instruments; they tug on their strings. The music leaks out of the pipes and into your ears and suddenly you're inside the piece. It wraps its tight arms around you and persuades you to tap your willing feet. You do. You're moved by the sound, by the jazz, by the soulful feeling that can only be brought out by music.
She doesn't play piano. She can't sing a tune to save her life. But she listens. She sits and closes her eyes, letting the sound take her far away. She knows that the answers are written on some sort of scale. The proper key to open the doors will be found in one of those beats, one of those long and rhythmic pieces. She takes in the melodies, then goes home and taps away at her own keys. So what if the sounds don't quite equate? ~
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