i miss my piano. it’s sitting at home in a dark hall, with no tunes of love to accompany it.
i remember days when i’d just sit and play, for hours and hours, with no particular aim in mind.
i miss the feel of those delicate keys tingling beneath my fingertips.
i miss the sound of that old-fashioned music.
these days, i can’t play, because there are no decent pianos in sight.
and even if there were, what would i play?
an oldie for my dad, a hymn for my granddad, a love song for a home i’m not sure i know.
then maybe after all that, i’ll allow myself something to feel better.
i have so much work to do, so many things to see to, but all i can think about is the weird rattling noise in the walls of my room, and how nice a tub of lucid, almost-burning water would feel on my icy skin. How odd.
people talk about water running dry, i talk about floods that sweep me off my feet.