Piano Boy

His fingers dance along the white and black keys effortlessly as his eyes scan the paper in front of him. The pencil markings scribbled on to the page make no sense to me but they're specific notes that mean something to him. He put them all together and created something no one has ever heard before. His hair falls into his eyes as he quickly pushes the loose strands away and continues to scrunch his eyebrows together in concentration. When he plays he's not in the room anymore, he's somewhere else. At first I had no idea where this place was, but now he takes me there too.
His talent shines throughout the dark hallways of his school, his light intimidates even the brightest. But when you shine as bright as he does it's hard to not catch fire sometimes. His modesty and kindness vanishes and you're left only with a boy who can simply play the piano well. I'm standing next to a lit match, holding a bucket of water. Every time the flame wavers I'm tempted to douse it with the water but I can't seem to ever bring myself to do it. Because after all, he's my piano boy. He's not perfect, nor is anyone else in this world. I'm not even sure if he's perfect for me. But perfection doesn't define a person. Being better, stronger, taller or smarter than someone does not raise or lower the value of their self worth. But for some reason sometimes my piano boy believes this. He hides it but the flaws he carries seem to weigh him down until he's dragging them around with him. People see him as the bad guy but there's no bad in him. Only insecurities that are hidden by this wall of ornate feelings and unsure confidence. He knows he'll succeed. He knows he excels at everything he tries. He knows he's special. But he's still just as scared as the rest of us.

The Life of a Panago Worker

As a current employee of the very successful chain restaurant of Panago Pizza I am here to explain my riveting job and the mind blowing experiences of a Panago employee. I start my shift off by chatting with other co workers in hopes that they will distract me from the clock that always seems to freeze as soon as I enter my work place. Leading up to the days I work I feel this blanket of impending doom settle over me and it does not leave me until that blissful, freeing moment on Saturday night when I leave Panago and happily do not look back until the following Thursday. At work I usually tend to stare off into an oblivion and contemplate quitting the job that supports my obsession of iced coffees and unnecessary beauty products. There are days when I want to curl up in the back next to the box of sauces and gluten free crusts and release the emotions I have towards this god awful job. Usually there's an hour rush of nonstop pizzas, whining costumers and an endless need for more jalapeno ranch dip. But then, after the storm settles I spend the rest of my shift wondering around the store attempting to look busy and occasionally peeking at my phone to see if the world outside has come to an abrupt end or if my friends have passed out from a Starbucks coma yet.
Folding boxes, slapping dough, and dusting random objects entertains me for at the most 8.5 hours. Eventually my night comes to an end. During the last ten minutes a sort of unattainable happiness engulfs me and I happily fill out my time card and take off the black, flour covers baseball hat that contains my greasy slicked back hair that will resemble a bird's nest for the rest of my night. I say my goodbyes and am released back into the world. Finally, I am free again. But then I do it all over again the next day...