Believe as the fireflies play

Quiet.  And shy.  He plays, he keeps playing, simply because, he believes.   Metal beads chink in my palms as I watch him re-build as he sits, sits on a hard, wood stool.  He fits together the things he thought he knew, the keys like nooks in a puzzle.  What he once believed, it evolves into something, something different, new.  Something dark, as light shines form where he did not know.  The black and white that once were so clear, blend before his eyes into shades of grey between the notes.