This us something I wrote really early in the morning. . . like. . . 2 am. It's kind of strange, but I like it. Hope you enjoy.

There's a girl who lives in a world like no other. It's filled with music. No song is the same, and nobody needs to remember it again. She's surrounded by it. She was raised by a man with no mouth, only eyes. He has a soft, yet strong touch. His fingers skinny and thin.

He found her one day, alone by a singing creek. He heard the creek's melody. It was begging for help. He followed the music, as he had grown up doing, until he found the young girl.

He noticed that she was different from the people of his world. She had a mouth. She looked different as well. The people of his world, like him, were plain. They had smooth black and white faces and bodies, every one of them tall and lanky. They all look the same.

But she has long brown hair, blue-grey eyes, and soft, pale skin. The man didn't know what to do. He had never seen a person like this before.

He soon realized that she had nobody, and he took her in. He raised her from that day on. He taught her to speak through music, the piano becoming her best friend. Her piano was what she told all of her secrets to, all of her hopes and emotions. She couldn't wait until she was strong enough to play these thoughts for the world.

She practiced everyday and couldn't wait for the man to come back. She sat at her bench and played. She played until she heard a door open, everything having a song of its own. The door let out a slow, deep moan, like a violin. The music showed how tired it was. How old and wizened. How many thoughts and dreams it had heard.

The young girl turned around and saw her hero. This is what she called the man, oftentimes only in her dreams.

Her savior.

Her hero.

She couldn't wait until she could play for him, perform for him, and he noticed. He saw the way her hands twitched and saw the excitement and terror in her eyes. He walked up to her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, looking deep into her eyes.

She could tell just from that small touch, that he was ready for what she was about to tell him. She smiled, a sight that amazed him every time. She turned around and placed her hands on the keys, waiting for her fingers to tell her story. Before she knew it, beautiful music came pouring out of the instrument before them. It wasn't just beautiful for the noise, but also for the story it told.

The young girl played, showing her heart through her music, and her hero sat, listening and feeling overwhelmed with emotion. He was so proud of her, but also amazed at what she was saying. He was inspired and astounded. Shocked, even.

And right when he thought things couldn't get any better. . . something spectacular happened.

The young girl opened her mouth. . . and noise came out, startling them both. Neither had ever heard such a sweet sound before. . . and they wanted to hear more. So the girl continued to play. . . and continued to sing.

She wasn't saying words, for she never learned any, she was just making sounds. She was letting her heart out. She let her feelings free with this new-found instrument. She couldn't hold back, and he didn't want her to. He wanted to know more about her. He sat there listening, shocked by the beauty in her voice. He couldn't help but think that her tone far surpassed that of any instrument, not just by the noise, but by the feeling she was able to put into it. How much closer her voice was to her soul. He couldn't help but smile with his eyes.

He felt a tear travel down his face, and before he knew it, they started to flow. He held a skinny hand over his eyes, not realizing that the music had stopped. He felt a hand on his arm. He looked down and saw the young girl look up at him, face etched with worry. She was scared to think that she had made him cry, assuming that she had hurt him in some way, but the moment that she looked into his eyes, she knew that wasn't the reason.

The man looked down at her and held her close, letting her know with one action that he loved watching and listening to her performance.

He told her in one look how proud he was that she could tell him her feelings.

And with a few notes on the piano, he let her know that he was awed by her voice. He told her with that he couldn't wait to hear it again.

And he did.

Every day when he came home, he was greeted by her beautiful voice and song. He thought it was the most breathtaking thing in the world, and he knew he was right.