The Muse

Note: This is basically a prompt I filled: "A young pianist finds his muse in the face of a raven-haired tourist."
I am aware of the spelling, grammar and punctuation errors, however, this came to me in a flash of inspiration at 1am. This is my first short story, hope you enjoy it!

My fingers skim the ivories with skill, but no passion. The passion I once felt was lost long ago, now every note I hit is filled with a stony silence that drills me to the core. The streets I once filled with love and melodies now hold only suffering and loneliness.
Another day on the streets of London, people passing by with the same blank expression. Occasionally a few coins clang into my keyboard case, the sound resonates within me, dry and hollow.

My melodies I play flow through the urban alleyways and beckon passer-by’s to my keyboard. Yet I feel no connection to the music, I am a separate person, a separate sound, a separate entity. The keyboard is both my mistress and my master, bringing me a painful pleasure that I cannot resist.

The tunes that flow through my fingers are nothing but formulae and repetition. No longer an art, but a complicated mathematical equation for which I have no answer. A painful, prolonged agony I must endure.

I scan the streets, near empty, but one. His skin is alabaster, his beautiful eyes pierce my soul, they reach right down to the hollow place inside and fill it with a feeling I have no words for. His raven hair falls like silk; it calls me to touch, to taste, to feel him. His lips are crushed velvet, his teeth are shining pearls. The soft lines and contours of his lithe body leave me breathless; this man is the very definition beauty.

My fingers are no longer tired; the emptiness inside of me is overflowing. The melody has returned to my weary mind, the streets are filled with colour, love and music. Explosions dance behind my eyes, pushing me further and further. I simply cannot get enough, speeding through the notes, the beautiful music expanding within me. There seems to be nothing that can stop me, nothing in the world. The melody ebbs and flows, reaching into the dark, unexplored regions of my soul and taking everything with it.

The tune slows, winding down to a final close that leaves me panting and praying for more. The man stands in front of me, the cause for the magic, with a slight smile on his face. It makes my heart ache with longing, the longing to explore everything about him, to know his every desire, to feel his beauty. The inspiration he gives me.

He casually drops a few coins into my case and smiles another dazzling smile, filling me with subtle warmth. He walks away slowly, leaving me in wonder. He is just a man, I am just a man, but he is my muse. The music will play on long after his shadow has long swept my path.