he...she...a piano play and La Prisonniere...

'you seem to be in a flamboyant mood this morn...'
she stated...
seeing him playing piano
at the hall...
like that pianist...
held captive
in a war ravaged town...
playing piano by running fingers through air...
imagining...

he looked at her...
pausing his flight
of fancy...

the gold of Sun made him sweaty...
glistening...bright...
happy...
beseiged...

and
he just stared at her...
foolish child he
was he not?
staring at her
like that?
was that not idiotic too?

'dear...
when the sky is so blue...
wish i could be
a Chopin...
and you
a George Sand...'

she smiled...
she knew
something like that was always coming
out of him...
this sunny blessed morn...
this blue white sky...
this gold all over the hall...

but he was still looking...
at her...as if he was rediscovering...

'what now?'
she asked...
embarassed a bit...
shying...
blushing...
feeling on her skin
the golden love...
falling...
flowering...
dancing...

'dear...'
he suddenly looked a bit serious...
'ten years...
you know...
only ten years
wish i could get...
from Him
up there...
you stay
as Amandine....
and i
a Chopin
perhaps...
not like them the God and Goddess...
but a little bit?
a fragment only ?

please?'

now...
it was her turn...
it was her turn to stare foolish
at him...
stuck...
absolutely stuck...
bedazzled by Love...

and he was singing...
'nothing is real but dreams...
only dreams and Love...'

she remembered
Amandine...
and she felt she got imprisoned...
The Captive kind...
a Proust kind...
la Prisonniere...

he,meanwhile,had stopped playing
in the air...
he, by that time ,
was looking at her...
into her eyes...
absent...
and yet so much present...

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