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Eighty-Eight Worn Keys

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They are the only ones who test me. I am the only one not to argue with them. Eighty-eight worn black and white keys. Long and skinny like the fingers that press them. Eighty-eight instruments, put together for my benefit. The sounds they make vibrate through my hands.

Their sound is secret. For my ears only. Each key is so much different from its neighbor. A high pitch, a low pitch…played together all the same. Harmonies when sounds agree. Majors and minors.

Played together one way, an eerie tone to send shivers down my spine. Another way is bright and uplifting. Whatever the feel, I lose myself between the eighty-eight worn keys. I don’t need to be found. I’m content…lost in the vibrations.

When I am not prepared to take on the day by myself, I forget about the day all together. I rely on the keys, worn and used, to keep me going. All I need is my eighty-eight friends, my mentors and their advice.





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