Fall began with lots of rain this year. If I remember correctly, it’s like this every year, I believe. There’s nothing actually really special about Fall, to be honest… or maybe there is? Today in psychology, we learned that sometimes we force ourselves to forget things because it is too painful, and we tell our brain not to think about it… and unless we are forced to, we just try to not think of it at all. Maybe there is something special about Fall, maybe it used to be special, or always were, until something that happened that I had to forget.
I’ve always loved Fall, to be honest. You can ask all the art kids. It’s the colors, the beautiful changing colors of reds, yellows, and browns. Maybe it’s the piles and piles of leaves on the ground, or the crispy sound of leaves when you step on them. Perhaps it’s about how the wind blows your hair and the chilly air mix with sunshine when it’s late in the afternoon. You know what I’m talking about? Maybe it’s just here, where I’m from. Though we don’t get as much leaves changing as the mountain areas, it’s still something. I still think Fall is beautiful, despite whether or not it is still special to me.

Yesterday walking home from Tompkins, I came across a guy who played the piano. He sat there and played Canon, one of my favorite songs. I stood there and looked at him for awhile. It brought back so many memories that trembles my hands for a few seconds. Right away, I saw the memory like I’m watching a movie in 3-D and as clear as it could be. It was like a replay of the past 2 years, or longer?
A replay that made me smile and almost haunted me. I saw a boy sitting at the black piano, his fingers were like magic. He played with his eyes closed and I’ve never met anyone that good before. Then I remember sitting beside this boy on that same black piano chair, I remember him playing upon my requests. I remember how I used to be able to identify the song title and how long there is left of the song or what part of the song he’s at, even if it’s a classical piece and there were no words. I remember knowing it so well. He memorized over fifty symphonies and Mozart’s pieces and other songs, which he learned by ear.
The stop of the music brought me back to reality. In no way is this guy as good as him. Though I do not want things to go back to how it used to be, I do sometimes think about how things were back then. So much drama, and yet somehow I thought I was happy. Thinking about it made me realize how much I’ve grown up. I’m glad things didn’t work out, it’s only for the best. Though I know that piano player is off somewhere playing his heart out and some day make history, I don’t cry anymore because I lost him. I smile because I know I was the one that encouraged him from the beginning, I was the reason he never stopped, it’s good to know I was the girl that he stayed up all night and played music for, me and only me.