[Ulquiorra caresses the piano's ivory keys once more.
To caress, to touch, to love, to kiss. He is doing all of these things, except he's not doing any, because that's gross. He would never kiss the keys of a piano, mostly because he doesn't know who has been here before him and if they washed their hands. But all these words denote the most beautiful of intimacies ; the type he yearns for but has yet to find, permanently marring his face with unshed tears, thick streaks down his beautiful, lovely, glowing face.
Inappropriately used semicolon for the win.
One day, wedding bells will ring. Each single toll, echoing out over the ocean, the clear and crisp sound belling for miles.
They might be ringing right now.
'lo, can you hear them? Hark now hear the angels sing.
What are angels? Are they beings of light and love, dancing like clouds in the clouds? Are they the feelings you get when your heart soars to new heights?
Ulquiorra sheds a single schwarz tear for the angel he will never see.
Except not really.
Schwarz is German for black. :D]
I cannot tell if something is audibly pleasing or not. That's all.
[Every night, Ulquiorra beats up his pillow in a fit of sadness.