You would play upon me.

In the early days, I felt like your instrument. I felt like you were playing me, like a piano. Some notes up at the top of the keyboard, some at the bottom and the notes in between. I thought you were composing on my body, like you’d compose on the piano.

There’s the feeling of being an object, and sure, that’s not so fulfilling. But being an instrument is something else. It is a creative expression in several ways at once. I miss being your piano.


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