Feb 10

A wayward way of saying I miss you

I heard someone singing this morning
to an old piano
a loud echoing sound that
filtered through the wooden floorboards
like starlight.
The dust hung thick in the air
and it clung to the notes
magnetically
filling the air 
with particles of songs.
Do you remember
when we would play together?
My fingers bent over the old piano keys
and your voice was
lifted so all the clouds could hear
the melodies that twisted from my fingertips
and into your throat. 
Rusty keys 
and cracking voices
make for the most beautiful harmonies
on early mornings 
full of laughter
and light.
I often wonder where you went
dragging your sheet music
in a suitcase
behind you,
your passport overflowing with stamps
in languages that tumble off my tongue
like heavy bricks.
Without you,
my fingers straightened themselves
and went back to their notebooks
and endless equations
with variables
that disappeared into other numbers.
I would wonder where you went,
except somedays, I think
that you stayed in our old life
and I was the one who disappeared.


 
About the Author: LadyMidnight
"There is nothing to writing. All you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." - Ernest Hemmingway
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