I sit alone in the corner of her room–untouched, neglected—humming in low tones. Memories of times when the stroke of Anna Mae’s fingers created music inside torment me. All the tantalizing melodies are gone though—all is gone—only this cold corner offers support. I know that the love was false, a…
It was three days ago that the anxiety struck me. Early in the morning, mere hours before I received the call, a restlessness overtook me and I could do nothing more than pace. Rachmaninoff’s “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini” was swelling to its climax when the phone rang. “Kelli?…
English