And Chopin's days of playing the wind spectrum month

want to see you

Chopin never thought that one day he would be jealous of himself and hate himself because of one person.

From the very beginning, he knew that he was not an easy person to get along with.

Someone as sensitive and insecure as him is a total hedgehog.Because he would stab people, and because he was afraid of crowds, he never got too close.Whether in the salon or socializing, he has always kept the distance just right, neither too cold nor too hot, maintaining the rhythm he is most used to.

Curiosity does not belong to Chopin.

Like his musical tastes, he prefers the classical and the normative, and has little interest in the trendy and experimental.The poet who is doomed to be a wanderer never thinks about where to put his heart's home - he seems to have loved people before, and he seems to have never loved.Except for the words he left on the paper and the phrases in the notes, he never expressed the impulse of love too much.

Reason belongs to Chopin.

All his joys, anger, sorrows and joys will be calmed in the night.Together with those so-called heartbeats, except for being preserved in his chapters, he will hardly be indulged in the aftertaste - he may mention it occasionally, but perhaps it is more like mobilizing a composer's instinct, recalling how to use notes to express throbbing move.

Aurora was an accident.

She is like a dawn light, let Chopin, who has long been accustomed to the night, feel the sun again.

He couldn't describe her, but he seemed to be able to describe her with everything——

The little tit that flew into his world is the bright C major, the vigor and vigor, the magnanimity under the sun, the truth that can be sincerely and unashamedly shouted out loud.

Chopin buried himself in the palm of his hand.

Like her piano sound, Aurora's attraction to him was unreasonable, and by the time he found out, he had already crossed the line.

Lister said he lashed out at her for not being able to see himself, that he was the one who got into a corner and forgot who he was.

But my friend didn't know that he was also afraid—fear of François Pisson, not as much as Frédéric Chopin.

No one knows Chopin better than Chopin.

In essence, he is, as Garden self-mocks, an imperfect, even terrible man.

"Sir, please marry—oh no, it's 'Please be my fiancé'."

He was wrong, very wrong.

His lady tit, from the very beginning, the only person she saw was Francois—except for Chopin's aura, such an ordinary man, without divinity, with a completely human heart, would be jealous, would lose control, Will regret, will heartache.

Aurora, if you can... still have mercy and forgive an arrogant person.

Please give me one more chance to sit by your piano and listen to you play.

I want to see you.

38 Anting Street.

The carriage stopped on the side of the street, but Chopin didn't dare to get out of the carriage.

The man withdrew his hand, shivering, and retreated into the darkness again.

How much courage must he muster before he can forget the pain left by the thorn he stabbed; how many layers of armor must he put on before he dares to stand in front of her again.

Desperately want to see her, want to talk to her, want to know everything about her, want to be with her.

Just push open this door.

After a long time, Chopin only opened the car window with trembling hands again.

So impulsive - he should go back and write a long letter of apology with flowers and a gift of apology, then hand out a greeting card, shower and tidy up, and put on his favorite outfit , see her again.

Damn it, he could still smell the faint smell of alcohol on his body.

The young man, who was too frustrated to move, carefully concealed himself and peeked out the car window secretly.

The curtains of the floor-to-ceiling windows were not drawn.Candles were burning in the room, but the piano stood there alone, with the lid closed tightly.

What about her?

Chopin couldn't help poking his head out, only to see Petit walking back and forth anxiously at the door.

Aurora hasn't come home yet?

Where is she at this late hour—the nights in Paris are not safe!

All the remaining drunkenness in his body was instantly cleared, and the chill behind him made Chopin's whole body tense.

He forced himself to calm down, if something happened to Aurora... Damn it, his body was faster than his thoughts, and his right fist slammed into the car door with a bang.

"gentlemen?"

"Turn around, go to the Paris Music Society, quickly—"

He was glad that even when he was extremely angry, his ears were still listening to her voice; what he thought could be ignored was quietly remembered in his mind.

Aurora, you must be well.

What would happen to the world if the sun stopped burning?

Chopin only knew that when he saw Aurora, who was like a wandering spirit, he felt as if he was trapped six feet below, the oxygen in his lungs was gradually depleting, and the pain of suffocation caused physiological and obscure crystals to appear in the corners of his eyes.

He followed her one block in the carriage.

His heart followed her and fell into the cracks in the paving stones.

Timid, afraid that her despair would come from herself.

He could only hold the car window tightly, using the dull pain in his fingers to maintain his composure.Chopin, who cares most about his hands, has long since lost the white gloves he never left.

Until the bamboo basket that passed by, traumatized the girl's arm again.

how can--

"parking!"

How could the treasure he unearthed be harmed by the world at will?

"Aurora."

He chased her back, called her name, trying to get her away from the desperate call again and return to him.

The young girl's staggering back was frozen under the street lamp, she turned around tremblingly, her eyes were full of pearls, and she stubbornly insisted not to let them fall.

The youth stopped.There is a nocturne between him and her, and all his manuscripts were sacrificed to Silence, and finally gathered into one name.

"Aurora."

She sniffed, endured the grievance and sadness, and asked fragmentarily to confirm, "François Pisson, can I still go to your side?"

He put together an ugly smile, closed his eyes and shook his head, "No, Aurora... my dear, this time I will go find you."

The young man ran over and held his tit tightly in his arms.

……

Chopin's soft French shirt was instantly covered with warm water droplets.

His chin lightly pressed against the top of Aurora's head, silently uttering soft words, accepting her flooding rainy season.

"I won't apologize to you, François... You were never Chopin, and you don't have to be him."

"Well, I'll apologize to you, Aurora."

"I'm sorry, François... I can't let go of Chopin, he's already in my life."

"Okay, I'll snatch you from him, Aurora."

A furry black head poked out from the young man's arms.

Although she stopped crying, the girl with tears still hanging from the corners of her eyes tilted her head and looked at him. She seemed to have heard a special sentence just now.

"Does your arm hurt, my fool, as a pianist, I don't even cherish my most precious things..."

He took it briefly, held her right arm, and looked at her wound, full of distress.

"This little injury doesn't affect my playing the piano at all... Don't your hands hurt? I ask you the same thing. Don't think I didn't see the imprint on your palm, Mr. Writer."

She muttered, feeling that he was making a big fuss and didn't forget to kick the ball back to him.

"...from now on, don't bake gingerbread."

"Oh, actually, Torun's gingerbread is my favorite little treat... I just wanted to share with you what I like - it's just a coincidence that Chopin likes it... If you don't like it, I don't Done."

"There is no dislike!"

The girl stared wide-eyed, watching the young man take out the snack bag, and wiped out all the gingerbread one by one in front of his face.

"Torun—ahem, the gingerbread...is the best and most delicious in the world."

Seeing him choking on the biscuit, she finally broke through her tears and smiled, helping him out.

"...The Music Association, isn't it going well?"

Aurora was slightly surprised, but considering that Francois could find himself here, it was not surprising that he was careful with him.She didn't hide it, and generously admitted the fact of frustration.After holding this gentleman and crying bitterly, she no longer felt so uncomfortable.

"I, help you. Trust me."

The girl blinked and walked to the young man's side, without questioning his words, she just asked him why with her eyes.

He said, "You are my baby bird, and I will naturally guide you—"

She smiled and shook her head, "Francois, even if I am a fledgling, I am still a bird that can fly by itself."

"It's just that the wind is a bit strong now, and my feet slipped when I spread my wings."

"However, François, if the sky is the place I want to go, I still want to go to Chopin with my own strength and play a piece of music for him. I would like to say thank you."

"I don't want to throw in the towel like this. Sir, I can definitely get the first letter of recommendation on my own."

"I want to be fair and square, and let Paris recognize me as a pianist!"

It seems that no further confirmation is needed.

Whether he is François Pisson or Frédéric Chopin, he will be struck by this beautiful, tough personality—she is never the same, like light, indelible, dazzling And warm.

Franz was right, he was already deeply in love with the dawn of hope.

"Go, my baby bird, I am the tree you can rest at any time. You can fly as high as you want, and go home when you are tired."

"If you refuse my help, why don't you refuse my reward?"

"Aurora, do what you want to do first, if you can finish it... then I will bring a friend to meet you. I will give you a chance, and you can ask him for a second recommendation."

The next morning.

As soon as the door of Jane Hepburn's store opened, a gentleman who had been waiting for a long time entered the store.Hepburn had never heard the ringing of the copper bell so early before, and Old Hepburn stopped what he was doing, ready to receive guests.

A gold louis was placed on the counter.

"Sir, this is?"

"Did you receive a lady a few days ago, she bought a bottle of lawyers and emeralds, in a... extraordinary way."

Old Hepburn was about to say something when he heard the male guest put on his top hat and turn around to leave a word.

"My fiancee doesn't need to owe others favors."

……

a few days later.

Chopin invited Liszt to the appointment together, and he wanted to officially introduce his fiancée, Miss, to his friends.

"Please, please, I'll go. How about it, Fried?"

The blond-haired young man who was spinning the goblet had a high-spirited face, happily joking with his friends.

"Okay, Franz Liszt, I, Frederick Chopin, hereby ask you to come with me to listen to the most precious piano sound in the world."

The goblet fell to the ground with a crisp shattering sound.

The calm Pole raised his eyebrows, and did not remind the long-haired Hungarian in Balad that the wine painted a purple flower on his beloved trousers.