The Dickies.

She plays the piano, her fingers moving over the keyboard with a determined seriousness. He sits in the armchair watching sunlight dance on the coffee table, trying to remember who she is that plays, and what she plays, he remembers something of the music, a light shines from a dark room in his mind. She wants to lose herself in the music, her fingers remembering each note, how much to press and soft or hard. Who is it that came this morning? Who spoke to him? He sighs, loses the sound and who is playing? Was there once a she he once loved? The sunlight fades on the coffee table, just the brown wood now. She lets the last note move across the room. Her fingers fall to her lap. He sits there beginning to sleep now, his eyes close. She sits there taking in the silence after the music fades. The carer that morning who helped wash and dress him, said music helps to relax troubled minds. He sits sleeping. She can hear his gentle snores. She stands up and walks to the window and stares out, sunlight on the lawn. She sighs, mumbles and wants to shout.