the girl who grew a piano on her back

We have the girl who grew a piano on her back. She has dark white eyes, one lip black and one lip white. Her hair is wandering on her head in different colour and music notes of white, black and grey. Her body is made of petals and pedals and sweet curves of little music kisses. She walks barenaked with cold feet on the train ceiling, making sounds out of every train movement to sound chopinesque. Her thighs are loving the light and the light falls right on her thighs, making games and lyrics out of every hidden corner.

We also have the man that plays the  guitar on his chest. Mellow yellow dark green honey eyes, a big hole where his heart is supposed to be and his heart outside, like bursting out of soul to find his soulmate. He has the legs of a runner, hips of a swimmer who doesn’t know how to swim and a face of a dreamer kid. His smile is something between melancholia and free tickets to Disneyland and his cheeks are covered in thoughts of wonder. He knows how to play his chest guitar but doesn’t know a thing about playing music.

They met in a train where he played the guitar growing in his chest and she fell in love with his chords. He fell in love with her dark-white eyes and her little jumps on the train lounges making lovely keystrokes.

They let each other know their music where the eyes met and music began. And they are so happy about it.

 

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