‘Old piano’s always struggle to hold their tune,’ her Grandmother said, plunking away at the keys with twisted fingers. ‘They’re like people. It doesn’t matter how many times you practice, age always takes a little something from you in the end.’She hit a sharp and flinched. ‘Your Grandfather was always the better player. He could tinkle those keys like they were made from his own fingers, and your mother, well she was just like him. Gifted is the word. Utterly gifted.’The notes fall flat and she stops. ‘Some days all I can hear is that music. Drifting, always drifting away.’
Carol J Forrester - Writing and Works 
Sweet both granny and the story.
Thank you. 🙂
I’m assuming the typos were intentional, but I’m not really understanding why. Whatever, I can agree with the grandmother’s sentiments.
Typos were not intentional. I really need to proof more.
Been there, done that. Not to worry.
Love how music can simply come natural to some – I could never master the piano.
Neither could I, my sister was pretty good but as with everything it takes so much dedicated to become a master.
Painful and sad memories for the grandmother, beautifully woven into the music.
Beautiful, the words float so poeticaly.
Thank you, I’m glad to hear that they do.