Sometimes, he pretended that his fingertips were soaked in ink and he wrote. He wrote on every single thing he touched. On walls, desks and even the air he touched. He didn't write about anything in particular. Sometimes he wrote about people who run their whole lives trying to reach something not quite clear for them only to find out they were actually running towards their own death. Other times, he wrote about love and how some people spend their days searching for true love till they fall, not in love rather because their knees just couldn't hold them any longer. However, most of the time, he wrote about his dreams, thoughts and life. When people asked him why his wrist was always clinched as if he was holding an invisible pen, he just smiled and said "so that people wouldn't forget me". No one understood him.
'You don't know it yet, but someday everything I wrote would shine through the walls. Someday everything I wrote would come to life and light the way to those who are lost saving us all. Someday
Just not yet."
Sometimes, she pretended that the walls around her were piano keys and she played on them. She closed her eyes and played on the invisible piano that is the air that surrounded her. He went to her one time just to see the peacefulness of her face. It was crazy but he heard the melodies she played. To him they were the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. They spoke to him and he did nothing but listen. They told him once about the birds who chirp every morning not caring about who is listening or not yet knowing that something out there still believes in music. People asked her once why she always had her fingers moving simultaneously. No one understood her.
"You don't know it yet, but someday every melody I played will float around us in the seas of our desperation and save us from ourselves. Someday
Just not yet"