Those piano tunes and old fingers on the keys are beginning to pang in my heart.

A piercing pang, pang, pang... not a pleasant melody.

To be rid of the piano altogether is ideal.

I am angry though.

Too swollen and furious to even look at a face that knows no limit to love.

My heart is breaking to heal, but a tedious and torturous process it will be.

There is another heart, though, that is willing to wrap itself around my bruises.

In that heart, and in that smile, and in that touch is my security.

Here I am, running to it, like my breath will not continue of I don't.

And it won't.

I know it won't if I don't.