the first home he ever had was his mother's womb.

of course, he doesn't remember anything about his time there, but for him, that would always be his first home.

his first move was nine months later, when he moved away from his home and into the big world, his cries heard by everyone around.

from then on, everything became a journey.

he remembers the first time he discovered one of his mom's old cd records that were forgotten. he remembers cherishing the small treasure, and slowly becoming more and more attracted towards the music.

he remembers trying gum for the first time, chewing on the small square that burst into a cloud of flavor in his mouth. he remembers being mesmerized by how something so small could make him taste a thousand flavors all at once.

most of all, he remembers being six. he remembers being in his childhood home, and finding an intricate object in the corner of the room. he remembers approaching the object carefully, and looking up at it. he remembers sitting on the stool, and slowly laying a finger on the white part contrasting with the rest of the wood.

he jumped slightly when it produced a sudden noise, a ting! but his curiosity immediately sparked. he laid his other fingers on the white part again, now more than once, and was mesmerized when more noises came out.

back then, he didn't even know what that instrument was. all he knew was that he was happy touching random white squares, and knowing that he was making music like his mother's old record.

he wouldn't know it then, but finding that piano would change everything for him.

 

.

 

the piano became his next home.

 

.

 

when he was in elementary, he ignored the piano.

he was young, but steadily growing taller. before he knew it, he was taller than the piano where he used to spend most of his days with.

when he would get home, he would go straight into his room to play a game, or to do his school work. he shot glances at the brown piano occasionally, noticing how dust began to gather on top. even still, he made no move to clean it and use it again.

he made no move to light up the spark inside him again.

perhaps it was because he didn't truly knew of its significance. all he knew was that the noise would become too loud at times, and that the other boys at his school frowned when he mentioned the piano.

he just wanted to fit in.

(you'll do well on your own, the piano seemed to say to him when he would pass it by, even if i leave.)

there were days, however, when the itch to touch those white keys became stronger than his willpower. those days, he would approach the same corner that became engraved in his mind, and he would sit on the stool.

but he wouldn't touch the piano. he just sat there, admiring it.

he knew that he was putting an end to their relationship. he knew that he was making this end all too soon. but he knew that no matter what, the piano would always be there to greet him again.

and although he neglected the piano, although he stopped visiting it, although he stopped playing, the piano stayed in the same spot.

waiting for him to come back home.

 

.

 

whatever form i take, you will see me again. let's meet happily again at that time

 

.

 

(indeed, he would meet the piano again in his life. and that moment would be special, beautiful, and a story for another time).

 

.

 

he had almost forgotten about it as the time passed by. almost.

he was fourteen, but he already felt like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

his eyes burned slightly as he fought away the exhaustion, and sat down on the nearest thing.

the piano stool.

looking at the piano for a moment made all the memories come rushing again. and when he laid a weary hand on top of the key, he felt everything fade away as he became one with the piano.

he played for a bit, awkwardly repeating the same tune, but feeling more than glad at the warm welcome he received from his old friend.

his mother wasn't going to come home that day, he realized tiredly when the door didn't open by eleven at night.

but instead of making him sad like it usually did, he simply gave a small smile and kept playing. 

without you, he had whispered to the night, close to the piano, i am nothing.

together, they greeted the dawn with aching hands and creaking keys, but warm hearts regardless.

he was back home.

 

.

 

don’t let go of my hand forever, i won’t let go of you again either

 

.

 

he was nearing a new chapter in his life when everything changed.

he played the piano endlessly, burning fire onto the keys, scratching his finger pads as he refused to stop playing.

those were the only moments where he was truly content, with his piano by his side.

the music turned into his safe haven, and the piano remained as his home.

but all those moments turned into memories when he could no longer play.

when he had to say goodbye again.

 

.

 

the accident broke his shoulder.

he remained in the hospital after the car crash for more than two weeks as the doctors tried to salvage his arm as best as they could.

gritting his teeth, he stayed as still as possible when the doctors put more morphine in his body, making him feel like his veins burned with a fire unlike the one he was familiar with.

when he was allowed to return home, his movement was limited.

and for two months, his arm and shoulder remained immobile, caged away in a sling.

for those two painful months, all he could do was watch the piano at a distance, afraid to sit down and not be able to play.

even after his arm was free, even after all that remained was a stiffness that stung slightly, he was still afraid.

he would sit in the worn stool, clutching his shoulder, crying as he was unable to even press the simplest key.

i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i can't do it, he would whisper with his head laying on the wooden surface, tears staining the fine finished, i can't.

but every time he wanted to give up, every time he let his fingers fall short from fully touching those keys, the piano would always be right next to him, never going away.

you can do it, it would whisper, and he would listen.

the piano didn't give up on him, even when he so badly wanted to.

 

.

 

falling into the endless void of depression and hopelessness made him push away everything he ever loved.

he returned the records of his mother, he threw away the music sheets he had made, he pushed away the piano.

because even if he wanted for them to be together, he couldn't do it anymore.

even when the piano remained by his side, he just wanted to stop his desire to met his old friend.

because he had forgotten (ignored) all those times when he ran to met his friend happily, when together, they could create the most beautiful pieces.

but the piano never gave up on him.

and because of that, he couldn't either.

 

.

 

don't let go of my hand, because i won't let go of you a second time.

 

.

 

the first home he ever had was his mother's womb.

the second home he ever had became his true home.

because although the piano wasn't there for his beginning, he knew it would be there until his end.

 

.

 

the piano became his home.

 

.

 

in the corners of my memories,
there's a brown piano set in the corner of the room.
in the corner of the house of my youth,
there's a brown piano set in the corner of the room.
-first love