I Really Couldn't Say...

Here is a story I began and posted to my DevArt. but of course with DevArt being all virus-ful I am re-posting here for feedback. I did manage to get one comment on my story before I had to leave DevArt for a while and will be posting the version edited using that comment and my own judgment soon.
so here is the first draft of my story. please if you read this leave comments. otherwise just pass over this. thank you!!! (ps. the final paragraph is separated form the others because I am not sure how much I like it and am hoping people will tell me whether or not to keep it.)

     The pale, bone-white fingers floated across the keys of the great piano. 
The melody that escaped the giant soundbox was quieter than seemed 
possible, so quiet that you had to hold very still and lean in close just 
to hear the threads of it drifting by. The quiet tune was beautifully 
rendered but heartbreaking for no discernible reason.
     The young man playing the large black piano was leaning into the music 
as if it held up his slight form. He wore a long black coat whose sleeves 
fell across the backs of his active hands, masking the deft movements as 
his floppy, dark brown hair masked his equally dark brown eyes. A wholly 
unremarkable boy, no older than, say, twenty-two; a face almost immediately 
forgotten as soon as it was out of sight.
     The dark house that sheltered the young man was large but rather 
uninteresting from the outside, further masking the beautiful melody that 
teased the people walking by, like a speck at the corner of their eyes. As 
people walked by, if they were quiet, they could almost begin to hear the 
song slipping through the house's screens. Most often, unaware and unable 
to actually hear it, they would keep going but with a feeling of regret, as 
if they had missed something very important. No one thought to look past 
the melee of a garden to see the large house that held the young man and 
his magnificent piano.
     The sound issuing from the piano was an unusual occurrence, as the 
occupant of the bench was not usually home. He drifted often, following 
this group of musicians or that one until the fancy took him to find a new 
path or to return for a short time before the inevitable yearning for new 
sights and audiences would draw him forth once again. The pile of mail on 
the small dining room table, all addressed neatly to a "Mr. Charles 
Friday," showed that he had just recently returned from a rather long time 
away. Slowly the notes changed and the sound grew as he warmed up to the 
music.
     Another unusual occurrence was the young woman walking, or rather, 
dancing past the large dark house just as the music blossomed. She usually 
drove the route her feet now carried her on but her car had chosen that day 
to stall and so she walked, or rather, danced home that day. Her pale, 
bone-white sneakers traced invisible designs on the cool grey concrete as 
she created a new dance in her head, her mahogany hair slowly slipping its 
bonds as her movement jostled it free.
     It wasn't long before she realized that the music she heard was no 
longer in her head but actually had a presence as it swirled across her 
path, making her pause in surprise. For some time she simply stood and 
listened as the song unfolded like a well-used road map. All too soon the 
music stopped, the ending lingering in the young woman's memory like the 
sweet aftertaste of honey.
     "Nada!"
     The voice calling her name broke the trance and she skipped forward to 
catch up with the impatient friend who was accompanying her home. The 
mystery of the remarkable music coming from the entirely unremarkable house 
she filed away for tomorrow. Perhaps she would walk home again tomorrow...
 
     Charles closed the piano top slowly so as to not shake the image of 
the beautiful girl, the one who danced to his music, loose. She had truly 
been a sight to behold. Her thin figure was well but lightly muscled and 
she moved with the ease of long practice. She danced like the embodiment of 
his music and he was entranced. As he sat there remembering a new melody 
began to build in his mind. Perhaps she would walk this way again tomorrow. 
If she did he would try his new song out for her.