There’s a piano in my sitting area that’s been there for centuries. Massive, brown, and very, very old, I’ve spent entire days staring at it. I don’t know exactly what kind it is; I can barely understand how it works. My knowledge is limited to pressing a smooth, white rectangle, and waiting for sound to come out. It’s a horrid sound, really, because I’m not much of a musician. I wonder why I keep it around. It’s practically useless to a talentless person like myself, and I sometimes wonder if it’d be better for everyone to just sell it off. I almost did today. I was so close to getting rid of it. But, it’s still here. In my sitting area. Spending another day with me to add to its thousands.

~

I enjoy the brisk air that comes with autumn. It carries through the open windows of the mansion and fills the sitting area. I hum slightly, and tap my fingers on the piano to a tune I can’t quite recall fully. An old tune, I think. Perhaps a lullaby. It’s upsetting.

~

Through the mansion, the wind brought the brisk chill of autumn.

The wind’s sounds are beautiful this time of year.

The leaves were changing again. Bright swirls of red, orange, and yellow floated down onto the courtyard and onto my clothes. They were gorgeous and peaceful, but strangely saddening. I’ve watched these leaves grow from buds during the spring, and I’ve always dreaded the autumn when they’d wither and die. What good was life if it was fleeting? What good was anything if it could never last?

Staring at these leaves, I remembered why I never left the sitting area.

~

Another year passes. Snow and cold settle in to chill me in my depression. I don't shiver. Instead, I lay by the open windows in the sitting room and fall onto the blanket next to the piano, as if to keep it company. Just like that, I lie on the floor with my arms stretched like the angels the children make in the snow.

Such a calming and wonderful feeling, this cold winter air.

I close my eyes to the sound of the wind rattling the loose wooden frame of a window.

~

I touched the piano today. Just like walking through the mansion, it’d been so long since I’ve actually dared to place a finger on the instrument. Dust had collected in disgusting amounts, and I felt ashamed; this piano had been left in my custody, so how could I have let it fall into such a state? I immediately wiped it down, careful not to press the keys, and made the old thing shine again. I’m pleased to say that my cleaning gave it some dignity, though I knew that looks meant nothing to an instrument. The piano was made to be played, but someone like me should never destroy such a beautiful creation with his fingers. I pondered over selling it again. Maybe someone with actual talent and love could treat it better.

~

For the first time in so long, I was angry.

I had become a mess of a creature, screaming and crying and attempting futilely to destroy everything in my path. I had been quiet for so long, but as another winter came and ravaged the land, I couldn’t bear my melancholy any longer. The frustration had just built up and exploded. Yet, the house remained in its pristine condition; not a speck of dust was out of place. I was desperate to maim something, to mark it with the proof of my suffering.

So I had turned to the piano.

The plan was to break it. Rip out its strings and bash the wood with my fists, pluck the keys and throw them across the room. I had wanted to drag my nails down its sides until it was covered in the blood from my fingers. But I didn’t touch it.

I had screamed at the piano instead. Screamed until my voice was hoarse and the taste of blood spread inside my mouth. Screamed until I truly cried and fell to my knees, clutching my hair in anguish.

~

The ghost of your fingers woke me up today. I had been asleep for a long time.

~

It plays, now. Someone comes in at times to entertain himself. I hide away to make sure he stays. He's not you, but the piano still plays beautifully. It's peaceful to hear, and I think I’m sleeping more often than in the beginning. He plays with serenity in his heart, while you had unending sadness. I miss your pieces. I bet the piano does, as well. It loved you, and it suffers without you. But, this new man seems to close whatever hole you had left, along with whatever meaning I had to stay here.

~

He doesn’t notice me today, either. I wonder if he’d be able to see me if I stood right in front of him. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me. That’s a saddening thought, but it’s a possibility.

I listen to him, today, as well.

~

What is life without you?

~

He said something. He said something to me. I couldn’t understand him, but he knows I’m here, I’m sure of it. What is he saying? I wish you were here to translate, because it sounds so similar to your tongue, but I can’t understand it.

I hate this so much. I wish I could talk to him.

~

He left a flower on the piano, along with note. It’s a strange thing, being written to when you haven’t spoken a word to one another.

I felt grateful anyway.

I write to you all the time, though I’ve never received a response. It’s foolish to expect, but recently, I’ve been hoping.

My sleep’s become noticeably longer. They’re memories, actually, and you’re always in them. My thoughts of you, my love for you. My time with you.

Fading. Drifting. Slipping away.

~

I’m so tired, now. He comes and goes often, playing for me. Well, I only think he’s playing for me, but that isn’t the point.

The piano makes such beautiful music even when I’m in a dreadful state, and I love the sound so dearly.

So what would have happened if I had broken that piano? What would have happened if it had been reduced to splinters? Oh, God, what dreadful thoughts. Dreadful, dreadful thoughts. The kind only my mind could come up with.

~

I had a dream last night. White lilies were wound between our fingers.

~

Spring’s come. I feel light-headed.

~

He's brought someone else. She doesn’t notice me, but when she sees the piano, she bursts into tears. He's laughing sadly, like how you used to, and hugging her as she sobs. Strangely enough, this woman carries something like you inside her, as well.

Same hair. Same eyes. But she doesn't seem to always be on the verge of tears. She's strong, maybe stronger than both of us combined. I am happy. I now know her.

~

She’s fixed the house. She's moved in. She doesn't see me, but I can't do anything. My hand passes through her like every other thing besides the piano, but I’m not bothered. She's happy, here, and so is her husband. The piano is constantly playing its music, now. Two different sounds. They're very different from you, but they're still beautiful. I hope that they don't lose their music like you did. I hope that they live long, better than us.

~

I'm fading now. With the falling leaves of another year’s end, my colors are fading. I stare at them, with their happy smiles and tears, and wish I could remember everything that we shared. There is just a growing sense of relief with every moment that passes. Soon.

~

The piano is playing a familiar tune. A lullaby most definitely; it's the only thing I can recall.

The sweet sounds send my consciousness adrift. My eyes are heavier, my movements are slowing. I lay myself beside the piano, stretched next to her as she cries silently. I think she misses you, too.

It’s expressing her pain.

So many years had gone by without you. It was lonely. It felt as if it’d would be alone again.

I miss you. I miss your melodies. I miss your hands, your sadness, your tears.

I miss you.

~

I finally stop hearing her music, and begin to hear yours.