>It scares you the most when you wake up and find your eyesight isn't working.

>You keep a flashlight at your bedside to cast before your eyes until your pupils react as they should and that black world begins to tint

grey. Sweet, blessed grey. >You're thankful for grey, at least.

>Sometimes you can tell given the shade of grey you're staring at what color it really is. There are times when you can be so sure.

>Blacks are usually dark purples and blues. Mid-grey are greens, browns. Pale greys are warm colors, near-white are light or pastels.

>Of course sometimes you get things completely wrong, so you make a game of it to yourself and keep tally of your mistakes.

>You try to decipher vases of flowers, windows in front of clothing shops. Paintings, photographs. It's all a game.

>But the barest hints of colors fade to black and white when you're doing what you most love.

>Lucky for you, here black and white is beauty. Classical and dainty, piano keys and sheet music, with bits of notes sprawled out in grey.

>You spend hours upon hours at the studio practicing. Enhancing your skills. Improving muscle memory, teaching yourself to play by ear and

trust your heart and ears more than what fades daily before your eyes. You know what's coming. The end is inevitable. One day you'll wake uo

and no matter how much you try you'll never be able to see those shades of grey again. You'll be fully, permanently blind.

>You promised yourself that losing your eyesight would not mean you had to give up everything you love.

>You'll be a pianist until the day you die.

>You don't need eyesight in order to channel your soul into music to share with the world.

>You would die without it. It's as much a part of you as simply breathing.

>You close your eyes as you play. Feel. Accept. Prepare.

>Your eyes are being taken from you. Not your hands, nor ears, nor your mind.

>You can handle this. You have to.

>Though it's hard to face the darkness so completely alone.