Yoongi

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29 July Year 22

Why was it that a particular melody became stuck in my head only after the person I'd practiced with, who played the guitar is no longer with me? I glanced at the piano across the room as I reclined on the couch. When I was expelled I threw away the piano key that belonged to my mother– the only thing I'd saved from the ruins of my burned house. The piano key half burned itself. I threw it out of my apartment's window. I thought doing so would end it. I repeated to myself, like I had all those years ago, that I'd never lay my hands on a piano again.

Early the next day, I hurried down the stairs unable to wait for the elevator. I'd fallen asleep deeply, but the sun had risen already. The things I did the night before suddenly flooded my thoughts. The flowerbed outside the window was vacant. When I asked the security guard he told me that the garbage truck had already came, and that's how I lost my mother's piano key.

I continued to give up on music countless times after that. I won't do it. I won't come back. Music is nothing. But even when I ran away, I knew. I knew that I'd return to music. The same why I'd stumbled down that staircase, music was the kind of thing I'd never be able to let go of. Internally, I was just as free as I was a person who was suffering. I was confused, but I was also lucid. Fear and confidence, hope and despair– I lived between those contrasting emotions.

Suddenly, I was overcome with the desire to play the piano. I wanted to recognize myself who had pretended to be strong despite the reality that I was a fearful coward. I wanted to pour the curses, make fractures, inflict wounds, hit and destroy, hold and cry. But I didn't want to run away. I wanted to finish the melody from the piano that I heard repeatedly in my mind every day. For once, it seemed like I could.

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