Log in

Broken Keys - Coffee Shop Scribbles [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Coffee Shop Scribbles

[ website | My Website ]
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

Broken Keys [Jun. 21st, 2006|08:06 pm]
Coffee Shop Scribbles


[mood |sadsad]
[music |What Would I Do? :: F.L]

This piece is really true to me. The grammar and everything truely sucks, but I don't care because it's something I've felt for so long and I just needed to write it out. And it all came out in about 2 minutes along with some forced tears...but you didn't really need to know that...

I play the piano. Correction.
I played the piano.

Once upon a time I played the Piano.
Once upon a time there was a girl who dreamed of being a famous pianist, a pianist that would play in the finest opera houses and concert halls throughout the world--especially in Europe.

I can't even look at a piano any more without feeling pain. It's like each instrument has soaked up the pain and each time I touch the keys I feel it.
The pianos breathe into me.
Not the way they breathe into musicians like Sondheim or Motzart or any critically acclaimed pianist, who feels the instrument and it opens up and melds to their every touch.
But like a murderer, who has snuck up on his victim and whispers poisonous nothings into their ear.

I hear memories, I see melodies.

"Piano is like art. You shouldn't do art."
"Your not suited for this."
"Give it up. Just stop trying."
"It's not worth it."
"Carnegie hall! What a joke, you'll never be good enough."

It's all I wanted. My only desire and it still runs rampant through my blood, but I haven't the courage enough to try again.
So I sit on the bench--even the bench radiates the hurt I feel.

My fingers twitch. They long so to tickle the keys the way they used to. To bring this body of strings to life. Make it quiver with raw notes that fill the ear and melt the soul.
But I just sit.

I don't know why I even attempt to overcome it. The past is much too strong, and the hurts are much too deep.

People have always called love "the key to your heart" or "heartstrings" and now I understand.

I understand that I will never be truely happy.
Because my fingers don't have the power.

For me, the chords are always clashing.
For me, the notes are always wrong.
And for me, the ivory keys will always be broken.

[User Picture]From: painted_fall
2006-06-22 02:49 am (UTC)
That's so sad.

It feels wrong to say "good job," but it is well-written. Made me feel sad. =/
(Reply) (Thread)