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The Color of Us
Three artists made music — and love — in a little hidden jazz cafe in a fantastic city. She was playing the violin now, its notes pirouetting in the hot air like confession. With each measure, the piano was struck, reflecting the beat of his heart. And between them, there, the cellist smiled faintly, drawing, with his soulful tones, painting them in deep strokes of harmony.
They never even said the word 'love'. They didn’t have to. Their music said it all, every night — it was wild, beautiful and colorful.
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