May 25, 2017

A piano student

always ambling for a challenge

to perfect,

I found you

scribbled on the back

of a letter in the trash;

Your notes were dark,

sharp, a sight to behold

for one such as I.

I propped you up

on my oak piano,

ran my fingers across the

delicate ivory,

and began to play.

How I drove myself wild!

trying to perfect your harmonies,

blistering my fingers,

and clouding the hours

with the foggy image of you.

If only I'd known then

that you were never,

truly, meant

to be played.

Maybe I wouldn't have made you so beautiful.

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