The Saddest Song

Dear you,

She sat on a chair across from him, holding her cello in her left hand and her bow in the right. She swayed when she played as if it was a dance song, but it wasn't. It was the saddest song one could hear.
He sat across from her on his grand piano, touching the keys softly as she started playing two or three notes before him. He moved in the space he had on the chair and played with smooth fingers, gently touching the keys and letting them go, in an attempt to console them in this sad song.
She wore black and he wore navy blue, because dark was the color of music. It was the color of classic and of every key in their instruments.
When she played, her hair moved with the moves of her cello. And they would look at each other every couple of notes, perhaps as some sort of a sign to keep going, to keep playing their saddest song.
And sad songs never end. They keep playing forever and ever in the backgrounds of our lives. But we never listen to their beauty and realize that they could some day end.

Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.