First Person POV exercise:
I stared at the ivory and black of the eighty-eight keys that stretched before me, remembering the sound of the instrument without striking a note. It had been years since I had played. At first it was because I was too busy: school, then work, then family. I never found the time to just be anymore, to exist in a state outside of myself. Playing had done that for me, taken me to a place beyond mortal constraints, beyond the tangible laws of physics that governed the universe. Music had always been my other dimension, and I had freed myself of daydreams when responsibility screamed louder. My life had become this rigid existence that offered less than an ounce of happiness, if I could even measure the emotion. I was frustrated to the point that I wanted to scream, to let go of everything that had wound me up like a top. It was why I was sitting here, staring at the one thing that had always let my troubles float away.
I cracked my knuckles, cringing at the deplorable sound, and placed all ten fingers upon the ivory. My form was sloppy, but even still, I allowed my slender fingers to press down just enough to illicit the sweetest tone, and then I pressed another, and another, until the cadence of a song I thought I had long forgotten flowed from the hundred-year-old piano. I closed my eyes, feeling my way down the scales in much the same way a hand knows that of a lover. I increased the tempo, letting it time with my resting heart rate. And that’s when I found the peace that could come from nowhere else. I was in another world, one not bound by the fabric of reality, only by the harmonics my ears could decipher.
— H. Danielle Crabtree