The Pianist's Letter

The lights are off. A young man is alone, in a soundproof room, sitting calmly in front of a grand piano. Everything is silent now. It didn't used to be this way. There used to be music pouring out from the piano. There used to be someone who sat with him. As he tries to hum a tune to himself, he keeps time with his heartbeat. His hands reach out to play something, but his mind tells them otherwise. As he pulls the rebellious pair back, he looks around the room again. On the side of the varnished wooden piano bench, there sits a little chair. As he reminiscences, a soft sigh is all that is heard echoing through the room.

His hands finally take over while his mind is distracted, and a slow, somber melody leaks out. It may have been from some romance movie, or perhaps it was some top 40 song 10 years ago. At this point, it doesn't matter. His mind is a blank, trying to find an image of that someone. Suddenly, he stops playing. He pulls out a sheet of blank paper and scribbles something down, and leaves it on the piano stand. Upon closer examination, it reads:

Hello there, friend.

By the time you read this, I may have gone far, far away. In that case, I am sorry that I will probably never get to say this to you in person. Do you know how much I think about, worry about, care about you? You may be aware or unaware, but it's true. I am a coward; I hide behind my music. What I don't tell you when I am with you, I pour into my music, in this little sound proof room. What is sad now, is that my piano doesn't want to be the messenger anymore. It refuses to play what I mean to say to you. Perhaps another time, where I can spend all the time in the world with you, I'll muster up whatever courage I need to tell you how I really feel. Circumstance has prevented this from happening sooner, and I guess the cowardice continues by me writing you this letter.

I am happy that you are picking up piano again, since that is probably the only way you'll ever get to see this letter. When you play, this piano will spill all of its secrets, my secrets, to you. You'll be able to see what I see; my world will become yours. You probably won't ever be able to return or share the feelings I've stored in this piano, but that's perfectly fine. I am more than happy to take a backseat, and lend a secret helping hand, behind the scenes, like the set crew of a musical production, of which you are the star.

Take care, friend. You should know where and how to find me.

Yours,

The Pianist