LinedWithCharcoal

I press into the keys, the tears streaming down my face. How? How in the world could this have happened? I press into the keys a little harder. On my birthday, too. My "sweet" sixteen. Not. I lost my father, the one person who believed in me, in my talents. He's dead, and he's never coming back. The tears flow a little faster, a little heavier, and I press into the keys a little deeper. You see, the best part about staying after school in my school on a Friday is that there's nobody there, so I can just play on the piano, no worries. And when I'm ready, I get up and walk home. It's my one stress- free, pure bliss moment of the week.

I sit on my cloud, looking down at my home. Never, ever, have I felt so alone. Fifteen years ago was my birth, Just one year ago I departed this earth. The cruel, hard fate I claimed for mine, The blood that I shed, the tears that I cried, When I stupidly followed the boy with blonde wisps: His big, bright, blue eyes, beauty: sealed with a kiss. He promised a night filled with wonder, right down to my bone. He told me that I was beautiful, and to meet him alone. By telling my parents, I knew it'd be this: I wouldn't, I couldn't, see the boy with blonde wisps. He's too old, they would say, and he's trouble, they'd warn. I could ne