Some days, I find myself staring longingly at the sleek and handsome piano in the corner. Other times, I find myself cursing the entire existence of the innocent instrument. Our relationship had always been a vicious cycle; the good parts were precious and breathtaking, but the bad parts were tumultuous disasters of hair-tearing proportions.

In the early days of our relationship, we cruised through what every couple calls the “honeymoon phase.” I was constantly drawn to the comfort of the piano bench, and the harmonious sounds that the piano gifted me were addicting. Conversation flowed like a gentle river of notes, strung together to produce the most intoxicating of melodies. We were inseparable.

But once the honeymoon phase ended, the beauty of our relationship came to a screeching halt. I dragged my feet to every piano lesson, counting down the tick-tock of the clock until I could escape. I no longer played with a fiery passion, but rather a growing hatred. I began to see our relationship as suffocating and unhealthy, and the many frustrated tantrums and key banging sessions I directed towards the piano became testaments of my growing resentment.

Rather than an instrument for personal growth and enjoyment, the piano became solely a tool for me to please my parents and to compete with my musically-inclined sister. I entered into countless tournaments throughout the years, desperate to get my hands on some kind of an award that would somehow validate that my relationship with piano was worth keeping.

But no matter how much effort I put into practicing, no matter how much time I put into perfecting each note, I came up short in every piano competition. Finally, I had had enough. When I finally ended our relationship and said goodbye to the piano, the freedom I felt was a breath of fresh air.

After many years of avoiding any contact with the piano, I can’t help but feel regret. Whenever I see someone playing the piano, unexplainable jealously wells up inside of me. My fingers begin to itch with anticipation and curiosity, and I begin to wonder if it would be possible to reestablish the connection that the piano and I once had.

For now, we are still broken up. But, maybe one day, I’ll learn to love the piano again.