piano keys

10. i remember the first time i saw him, the way he moved, the way he laughed, the way his lips would open and close, drawing words into the air surrounding him, and how his hands would talk as well, painting pictures to go along. i was too young to know it back then, but that moment was when i first fell in love with him.

09. the day we first spoke, we were just walking around the neighborhood, kicking a can of soda around between us, and he told me about piano music, how it was able to move people, how just a simple tune could provoke incredibly deep feelings.

that day, i bought a handful of piano records, and all i could think of while listening was him.

08. the first time we kissed, we were sitting on the ratty couch in his parents' house, playing video games like we always did. i remember how he was talking about keys, piano keys, and how beautiful they were. he kept going on about music, and how it wasn't the most important part in piano. he just seemed so enthusiastic. i was able to hear the music right in my head, just by the way his voice described it, and his eyes were sparkling with adoration while he talked, and in all honesty, he looked so beautiful that i just had to lean in and kiss him. he pulled away at first, telling me how wrong this was, and how boys shouldn't kiss other boys, but either way i kissed him again, and he kissed back.

07. we officially started being in a "relationship" after moving into our own apartment at 16. it wasn't very great, and there wasn't enough room for either of us, but at least there was something. in exchange for that, the sex was great, and i loved being fucked to the sound of his piano records.

06. it's safe to say that we just weren't meant to be, and so it wasn't that much of a surprise when he told me that he just wanted to take a break.

05. a few weeks after our break-up, he told me he was dating a pianist. my reaction would probably have been more than just a nod if i had noticed the bruises on his arms, and the way his words had lost their magic, how they couldn't paint pictures anymore, how they were nothing but simple words by now.

04. we continued to share the apartment after that, but now he'd stay at the pianist's house much more frequently, and whenever he returned, he'd tell me about the pianist's hands, and about how amazing they felt on his skin, and about the even more amazing music they'd play just for him, and while he told me about those things his voice was more beautiful than ever, describing everything in great detail while only using a few words, and all i could envision during conversations like these was him making love to the pianist.

whenever he didn't return home, i'd light a piano record on fire.

03. we started fighting more and more after his and the pianist's relationship got "intense", and usually it was because of the dark bruises all over his body and the blood stains in his clothes. at first i just took it as a normal thing, but after a while the fights started being more physical, less about actual reasons and more about fighting for the sake of fighting, and after every fight he'd light a match and leave a burn mark on my body, for all the records that i burned, or so he said.

02. after that, things started to go downhill faster and faster. he kept coming home late at night, smelling of cheap liquor and pot more and more frequently, and every time when i felt him curl up naked against me, covered in sweat with semen running down the insides of his legs, he whispered nothings against my ear, but they weren't the sweet type.

01. we eventually started fucking again, but it wasn't the same as before, and now that i think back, maybe i should've noticed the blood and semen trickling out his ass, maybe i should've noticed the cuts and bruises on his face, but all i could think of back then was him telling me how the pianist was much better than i was, over and over again.






































00. they played piano music at his funeral. i couldn't feel anything.