Alyssa Taylor

Piano Keys

I make my way through the old house,
tracing my hands against the halls like I would as a child.
I try remembering the way the coolness of the walls
I had felt against the palms of my hands,
but now I feel nothing.

The piano is sitting in the back of the living room,
begging for anyone to glide their fingers against their keys,
and I answer its' begging and slide onto the bench,

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