The Same Three Tunes
She sits at the baby grand piano in the corner of the room, catching the sun, and in sharp contrast against it.
She plays three tunes.
She plays the same three tunes.
She only plays the same three tunes.
An old jazz solo that she loved enough to search out the sheet music for.
A Michael Nyman piece that you were so proud of yourself for recognising, until you realised that you knew it from an advert.
The bit of Danse Macabre that you hadn’t heard before.
She only ever plays the same three tunes.
She only ever plays those same three tunes, because those are the only three tunes that she ever learnt.
Before she was gone.
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