Remember when you taught me
how to play the piano?
We taped all the notes on the keys,
otherwise, my fingers
would get all jumbled and lost,
and would collapse into a domino pile.
It was a mess.
We used to play duets,
me and you,
just barely touching on
that perfectly-sized bench.
Your lovely hands were always so smooth
next to my clumsy ones;
they seemed to dance to the music
they made.
Mine would trip over and over again.
But I couldn't be embarrassed-
it was impossible to be embarrassed-
not when I say next to
patient, patient you,
with your eyes closed
and your shoulders just barely bobbing
to the music pouring from
that black-and-white-god-of-notes.
And when you smiled,
close-lipped and sweet,
I knew you were smiling for me.
And when your smiled opened,
and your perfect teeth shined,
I knew that you were smiling for the music,
that you soul was smiling too.
And when you sang, just a couple of notes
in your sweet oaken voice,
even when there weren't any lyrics,
it made me happier than anything else in the world.
It was then that I swelled with pride,
that I was truly amazed that
I could play a song like this;
but it would more often than not
end up in me getting distracted and
messing up again.
I'd blush when you stopped due to
my mistakes, but you would just laugh,
still smiling,
and kiss me,
and I wouldn't feel bad anymore.
And despite everything that happened later,
I still have my piano,
that old, beat up Baldwin,
with its taped keys,
though they've gone yellow with age,
and the letters wore off
a long, long time ago.
Sometimes, I'll sit on that bench
by myself,
and just feel the tiniest bit lonely,
the tiniest bit empty,
and then I'll put my fingers,
wrinkled and old,
and those ridges of tape
take me back faster than anything else.
And whether I play or not,
I can hear the music.
Any thought at all are completely welcome. Thanks for reading.
-Coral-
And sorry for flooding the forums. I've been stuck at home with nothing to do but write. c:
