The busy rush of Tokyo's station has hit hard this morning, crowds amongst crowds of people walking through in a haste to get to school or work. Pushing and pulling their way through the station without a blink of acknowledgment to any buskers, especially nineteen year old female me.

My fingers dance across the familiar piano keys in soft presses, gentle thrums against the heel clicks against ground. I lean forward to continue the song, singing into the microphone with breathiness as the song continues on in melody. I swivel my eyes around the space in front of me, the swarm of people still continuing their way to the scheduled trains awaiting, not one person giving a second glance back to my watchful eyes. 'It's fine,' I seem to remind myself, 'you have at least performed here, you don't need an audience to continue a passion,'. But reminders can ever go so far.

My fingers thrum with an energy as they come to the instrumental piece of the song, my eyes train over the keys in focus, careful of each note but still smoothly played to the ear. I glance back up again out of habit, to which my eyes stop over you. Your stationary form pushing against people's rip. I couldn't help the small smile turning up my lips before turning back down to focus on the piano. When I lift my head up again to reach the microphone, I catch your eyes watching me intently, piercing into my soul with intensity. But you aren't judging me I don't think, you watch with a soft expression one of contentment and comfort. It fills a warmth in my chest.

As I place my fingers on the ending keys, you smile with a beautiful grin and clap your hands. The claps bound against the walls of the station, people turn to see who seems to be causing such sound before turning back to their days. I bow my head in thanks, and prepare for my last song of the morning. I didn't expect you to stay, but you did, you stayed standing in front of me despite the few annoyed looks of people who try to pass through your still form.

I start my last song, the sounds all coming into my head in recognition of the original songs. I lift my head to sing, and I still see you. Black hair softly hits your forehead in gentle waves, your dark eyes watch so carefully. Your lips tainted pink, curl up at the edges while your tall stature waits patiently through the song with your arms hanging loosely on the sides. When the song comes to an end again you don't hesitate to clap with enthusiasm, encouraging somewhat of a giggle to course through my body.

I smile at you, hoping to emanate my thanks and happiness that you stayed. I didn't really ever expect someone to stay, but you stayed, and I didn't expect you to listen, but you listened.