We're all back on the second floor again, sprawled out on the couches, talking with one another until the times up and we have to head back. It's been a long day, but the reality of it is that it's felt like only a few short seconds. I can never slow down the time enough when I'm with you. What makes it truly awful is the fact that as soon as this day is over I'll only have two days left until have to say goodbye to you again. And then, who knows? Maybe everything will be alright, but maybe we'll never even talk again.

The piano's open, and I'm hesitant to go play it; you've never heard me before. But somehow you notice me, for once. You try to convince me to play, but at first I'm against the idea. I think it takes a couple tries but finally I'm sitting at the piano bench. Of course, smiling on the inside because, god, you noticed me again.

I play the first song I know will show you the true beauty of my instrument - the only song that I can completely lose myself in because it's really my song. I never even gave it a real name, but thats okay. Because some music doesn't even need words to get it's point across, and this is one of those pieces.

I'm playing and I'm forgetting about all the sounds around me, and the scents and sights disappear right in front of my eyes and all that exists in this moment is the keys and my fingers flying over them. The only things I can hear are the steady rhythm of my breaths and the beautiful melodies flowing through me. This is how you can hear my voice. This is how I can get my point across to you. This is how you can notice me.

I nearly stop playing when you walk up and place a dollar bill on top of the piano. At first my face probably turns the brightest red color imaginable, but then I just smile and laugh at you, my fingers still dancing over the keys. I try to tell you no, because the truth is I don't want your money. That's not what I care about when it comes to you. But you don't listen.

Then more people lay money down, until I've come up with a piano full of loose change. I end the song with it's final resounding chords, take a deep breath, and look up. You're standing right there. Were you there the whole time? I was too lost in my music to pay attention. You smile at me and clap, slow at first, and I'm too embarrassed to look anymore.

You tell me it was amazing. Then I ask you if you want to know something even cooler about that song and, obviously, you say yes.

I wrote it.

Do you notice me then? Do you really notice me? Do you look at me differently now? Now that you've seen this side of me, the side that's a little more than kind of in love with music, the side that is such a perfectionist that I took years to write this?

Do you see me yet?