Johan stared at the grand piano in front of him.  Eighty-eight keys stared back at him, wanting him to touch them.  White and black, each key was holding a tiny piece of music inside.  It was up to him to set that music free, to let the world experience it, but still Johan didn’t reach out.

Johan knew to do so would bind his soul, to the music yearning to be free.

Johan knew to do so would shatter his soul, to give the music its shape.

Johan knew to do so would expose his soul, clothed only in the notes he played, to the voyeurs in the audience.

Johan almost left the stage, but then, ever so softly, he did reach out and caress the keys.  That act of intimacy coaxed his desire, which inflamed his passion, exploding into a rapture of creation.  Nothing was ever the same again.