Piano Concerto No.1 - Rhapsody On A Theme Of Paganini

It's love at first sight. I saw her, in between contradictory choices and confusing chapters of life. She reminds me of Piano Concerto No.1 - Rhapsody On A Theme Of Paganini. Dramatic, cheerful than all she has, fall apart. Slump into her own dark water, she doesn't even try to swim. As if life no longer intrigues her, her feet are beating lethargically like life of Paganini. She never traveled, she refused to be Paganini. She ain't prodigy, she told me. "You are just like Paganini," I sighed. No, she refused to live. Her body is heavy. Her mind no longer plays Rachmaninov.

Life no longer matters. What's so special about this daunting journey? "I'm just like Paganini," she exclaims. Anticlimax and quiet demise, no, she doesn't want to have one. Hope, ya, so what? It's like clouds, shapeless, not holdable, she sings. A-flat major? No, she is wrong. Rachmaninov's piano concerto no longer reverberates.

She breaks down and she sinks. I scribble down something and I play caprice of Paganini though I don't play violin. What matters? Journey, road. Anticlimax? Fuck those people who go all in to make your life un-Paganini. You don't like Paganini and you want to die? Fuck off, i don't want to see you. And then you sink and you disappear.

There's a road,
Where everyone is walking on.
It's not always long,
But it definitely is a daunting journey.

Once again, I fall in love with this piano concerto just like how I fall in love with her and you.

Who knows?

Sweat is dripping down.
Body is falling out.
Mind is going forward.


The race has just started.


I'm startled by the sudden crave for lies.
"This is not going to be true!"
And I start the race, reluctantly.

Nerve is tense.
Movement is lame.
Memory is false.


What I have is the race in front of me.
Perhaps lies?


Who knows