I used to play piano.
I would sit for hours on the hard black bench;
So long, my buttocks would go numb.
My delicate fingers would fly over the smooth keys,
Like butterflies flitting in and out of flowers.
The pedals moved with my heartbeat;
Vital parts of me and my body.
Piano was my mind, my heart, my soul, my life.
But now,
Reality has caught up with me,
And the hours spent fused to my piano
Are gone, replaced by the occasional five minutes.
The instrument that once seemed coalesced to my body
Has painfully pulled away
And now collects dust in the living room.
Now,
The only sound my piano makes
Are discordant cacophonies
Made by my mother’s mop handle
While she is cleaning.
But I know
My piano patiently waits for me
For when I can play
Once again.