That guy who play the piano.

That guy who play the piano. I can feel the sadness in his piano. All the songs that he played, as if they were the stories.  The stories of his previous love. I don’t know and I can’t be sure, because I just assuming he plays them for someone. For that one person that he couldn’t be with. That one person that I will never know and cannot compete with. That one person who took his heart and breath away. And changed his life forever and made him who is he today. I spent almost 45 minutes looking at his back as he played.


Afterwards, I can’t stop myself wanting to hug him from the back, telling everything is going to be alright. Well no that didn’t happen, although I want that so much but my ego and superego do not let me to. So I move closer to him, stand by the piano with my arms wrapping my head and placed on the piano top, admiring his renditions. I was studying his expressions and his fingers. I like them a lot. But I noticed there is some scars on his fist, as if he hit someone, leaving some red lines. I touched them lightly, to check them out.

He was mean. He was some sorta, I don’t know. He is mean with words when it comes to me. He said I am too manly, I should change my sex, I am a tomboy. That saddens me a bit. I tried to be feminine, while I don’t want to lose myself as a person, I don’t want to be someone who I am not. That is so vain of me if I ever did so. And I believe I am so much better off compared I used to be. Maybe he is indeed trying to friendzone me. I don’t know. Maybe.


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