a cruel thing

i sat there. sat and studied the keys. through eyes filled with tears. what a cruel thing, i thought in my saddness. my saddness that was unassociated with the sight before me. keys of brick. black and white. two, then three, then two again. it was made in the image of something wonderful and mysterious. the children sit on its bench made of bricks and pretend to compose masterpieces on its silent keys. so sad. to resemble something made to create so beautiful a thing as music. it was like looking at the only copy of a book that had never been read burning in the fireplace. something that looked so much like the instrument that has been the medium for so much emotion. so much beauty. so much potential. yet to never utter a note. to always be silent. i wanted so badly to place my fingers gently on the white bricks and press ever so softly and feel them depress and hear the beautiful chord rise. but i knew they wouldnt budge, no matter how gently i pressed them. so sad.

the worst fate in the world would be to live as a brick piano.