I've been running home everyday now to tinkle on the upright piano. I think I'm in love. The only thing I've been looking forward to lately is coming home to its lap, running my fingers down his ivory skin, feeling its black, hard body resonate with my touch. My virginity makes me sometimes awkward, cautious, embarrassed. But tripping doesn't get me down now, because I know it's always patient, waiting for me to discover the what the right moves are.
I'm sorry I took so long, but the piano used to make me so sad. Every time I opened the hatch, an inexplicable sadness would flood out and depress every musical note that should have come out instead. I told my piano teacher once, that the piano was a pandora's box of the world's saddest memories, but she only laughed. Now its scratched and old, and dust has gotten into places I can't reach into. But I realise now why it has been boring all those holes into my heart - so it can plug them better with its music.
(If you happen to have the piano score for Ralph McTell's Streets of London, charm says please with chocolate sprinkles on the top (: )
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