3 minute read

Dear Piano

by Indra Mali ‘27

Dear Piano, it ’ s me again, still struggling to express my emotions. remember? i was that little girl, who sat down at the keys all those years ago, and could barely pull out a melody. (fingers pounding, clanging, aimlessly. shoulders tensed. i tried to force them down for you ) 9 and a 1⁄2 years later, that’s still me

i try and try again to be open, but sometimes it seems like no one wants to listen as the keys plink away it is a hard enough decision to come to: “do i want to share this part of me with someone else?” instead, i share it with you, and with you alone, hidden in the all-encompassing ringing and tinkling of hammers hitting strings. for that, i guess i will always be grateful to you, because of the solace that i take in knowing that it will never be you who judges me (i’m sorry if this is silly; i hope you understand what i mean when i say these things ) but in between Brahms’ “Intermezzo Op 118 No 2” and Satie’s “Gymnopédie”, you show me what it is to feel free, to be able to be open, to be able to bare a part of my soul and it is in this way, as the pangs and lulling lilts of the changing chords and the echoes of the directive lent et douloureux resound throughout the house, that i finally feel light again, that i feel childishly carefree. and i realize that it ’ s because i love what i am doing. i love the sound that is shaped, how the intent and the sentiment behind every note is so pervasively palpable

you hear it in the way the espressivo section reverberates throughout the hallways. i don't really need anyone else to listen, as long as i can hear myself and you. i paint a picture through every phrase, i make every page a devotion to your splendor. the tones resonate as i weave a tale of myself, dressing the works of Chopin and Beethoven in my own colors and fashion you respond diligently and allow me to craft you soliloquies so this is my truth, the one that i could never share (the one that you already know) the one from all those years ago, when i was just that little girl who sat down at the keys, all stiff shoulders and flailing fingers, when i asked you to love me. Now, this is my truth: I appreciate you I cherish you I treasure you, and the little girl I was, who you watched grow And because of you, I am able to say confidently that I love you, and I love myself

With my love, Indra

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