Kiss The Rain Piano Chords Novels & Stories

We sat together and ate like the somewhat functional, yet dysfunctional, family who we have become. The brothers cleared the table and Cassius offered me his hand. “Come with me. I want to teach you something that I love.” I took his hand as I wondered what he wanted to show me. We walked through the palace into the conservatory. I had only ever been in this room to dust, back before I became their Royal Consegire. He led us over to a huge, black grand piano. Cassius pulled out the bench and urged me to sit. He then slid in beside me and lifted the cover to reveal a beautiful keyboard. He kisses my cheek before he strokes the keys. Soon he begins playing a classical piece. It is La Campanell

Kaiser’s lips hovered just above Izora’s skin, brushing her jawline as he pressed into her again, deeper, slower. His breaths were ragged against her throat, and his fingers tangled with hers above her head, pinning her gently to the mattress. The soft rustle of sheets, the rhythmic creak of the bedframe, and the distant murmur of thunder painted the room in layers of intimacy. Outside, the rain continued tapping against the windows in an almost approving cadence, like nature itself had slowed its rhythm to match theirs.

Her slender, pale fingers gently lifted the lid, and in no time, her fingers danced across the keys. The lively tune of "Happy Birthday" filled the hall, catching everyone off guard. None of the household staff knew Chloe could play the piano. They watched in disbelief as the woman at the piano seemed to transform into someone entirely different. Her long hair cascaded down her shoulders, and a faint smile played on her lips. Her long lashes fluttered with every blink, while her graceful fingers tapped the keys, spilling cheerful music into the air. She played "Happy Birthday" four times before seamlessly transitioning into the famous piano piece, "A Comme Amour."

With eyes at rest in the way of dreams, I hear the quenching rain. The percussion of the given water varies according to the surface it wets. There is the drums that are windows, the cymbals that are the concrete floor, and the soft, soft maracas that are the music of the grass. The triangles are the puddles, a high note to pick up the mood, to sing of the joy of the plants upon such a day. My bicycle wheels turn over the wet track, my speed bringing the cold rain into my face harder