Another day with rain, skies gray and heavy with clouds, the trees colored red and orange outside the window.
As usual the apartment was empty, the only sounds that were heard was the watch on the wall in the kitchen and the heavy platter of rain against the windows. A pair of olive-colored eyes watched the drowning world outside, the reflection of the pale face visible in the window before he backed away and left the room.
Mio stepped through the apartment, wooden floors creaking under his feet and he entered a room he recognized as his very own. Calm as he stepped towards the big window and reached for an instrument that was resting close by.
As he gripped the neck of the instrument he let out a long sigh, eyes closed as it was placed to rest between his shoulder and chin.
Fingers rested gently upon strings and the other carefully gripped the bow.
Soon music traveled through the rooms, wailing and crying in a gentle mannor when he poured every thought and feeling out in notes, a frown upon his face from the concentration when he moved the bow over the strings, upper body swaying in time with the highs and lows of the tones as his fingers shifted and danced over the strings to make the violin speak for him.
When he played he could let everything out, let reality go and build a bubble where he could stay and play forever.
This was how he spoke, words never did it for him and people didn’t care for his opinion, they never saw the melancholia upon his face and they let him be alone day in and day out.
Words never reached him the same as music did, they could speak for hours and he’d still feel like they hadn’t said a word, physical contact was never allowed, making him feel uncomfortable and he would close them out even more.
For someone who spoke through music he would listen when spoken to through music, it was the universal language of heart and soul.