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.