The first note tastes of ivory, of the clusters of stars that shine upon us in a million constellations, a union of entities together kindling the blackness of night into pale ashes of the sea.
The second note rings aloud in its loneliness, a single letter lost inside a void of meaninglessness. A letter without another made to form a word like a tongue asked to speak without a voice.
The third note is vibrant, a myriad of blue, green, red, and yellow, merged beautifully into a painting of colour, happiness, and life. Every stroke plays a part: each hue blended into oneness and all diverse colours unified to form a masterpiece.
The fourth note is shrill and one of a kind, a puzzle piece looking for a place to fit in. Flat without depth, an imbalance. One without the other, making it— really, nothing at all.
The fifth note is excitement, lasting for a mere second but causing my heart to speed up in anticipation. I play it again, but this time it sounds like it’s empty, and missing something. The last note hangs still. It sheers through the wind, too loud and too soft. I hear the faint thrum of birds exchanging twitters and tweets as the morning sun becomes one with the night.
My fingers rest on the piano in a moment of thought, atop black and white keys, a string of music in every different note.
Perhaps…
I press the first note and join it with the second note. The second note sounds no longer lonely. My left hand comes automatically up, and I continue joining the third note with the fifth note, the fourth note with the sixth note, and soon, I hear the birds quiet, and everything goes still. It’s just me and the piano, and everything else is inconsequential.
When I played the notes separately, I created a sound.
When I played the notes together, I created music.