He used to play a grand piano.
I heard meticulous tunes coming from his room all the time
Gradually, he began to play the piano less and less
Until I heard no more of those haunting melodies.
The piano began to collect dust
Throwing it away wasn't an option, that piano symbolised him.
The silence was deafening— that piano called out to me
And yet, I never answered its cries.
Needless to say, the piano became routine to me.
I began playing whatever I could muster
And played endlessly until my fingers bled.
Soon, this piano started to lose meaning.
Those previous memories of me playing
Had started to fade away
Even when I tried my best to hang on
To something that used to be so precious.