Piano

Piano


I was taken hostage by a beautiful lady in my youth. She was a big woman, black-clad, with shining smooth hair and the voice of a million angels. She gave me comfort and strength, hope, passion, and unbridled joy. But she was also the woman who made me so insecure and lost; who even made me cry at times. She was difficult and stubborn, but when she would break down and cry, and those million angels in her voice were strangled, I'd be the one to fix her and let her know everything was okay. As time went on, she broke more and more often. I was always there for her, though, and we would embrace each other so tenderly, one watching might think that there was no greater bond in the world.


I loved her, I left her, and I miss her.


When I close my eyes, it is as it always was. I can hear her talking to me. I can hear her voice clearly in my head, laughing, singing, sobbing, screaming, strained. While I drift off to sleep each night, she's in my dreams; I'm sitting in her lap, running my fast fingers along her hair, listening to her sweet song I craved. And she's there in my nightmares as we circle each other in a desperate dance, killing each other from the inside, and I'm stepping all over her feet like it will help.

These memories keep her spirit from dying. She probably still sits in that old room of ours, still, still breaking, still as gorgeous a beast as ever, loved and cared for no more directly than by the good times built up into tears slipping all the way from her eyes to her neck to her legs. Her hair is wired. Her voice is nothing but hanging there. Her curves are wearing. Her black ensemble grows white with dust. The result of another woman, and dead by me, borne from the same woman. She'll never find anyone again that will love and hate her in the same way I did.


That big woman in black, with the smooth hair and the voice that can kill as well as revive… That woman who cried, and made me cry… That woman I left voiceless and all but dead in the place where we once both stood… My twisting fingers ache for her and her voice will never die in me.

And I'll see her again someday.


And we will love.


And it will be beautiful.