MIN SUGA

FIRST LOVE

Walking on the dirty and destroyed path, you saw it. You felt the pull. The need to break the glass and fly. Fly while playing the keys. The manichord was settled in the dusky room, brown adorning it and the strings aching to be played. The siren went off and yet you could only hear the ivories. Head down, spirits down, and the blood on the road. You were running to the spinet. To your first love.

"The corner of my memory. A brown piano settled on one side."

Way too young to understand the keys and yet you were attracted to it. Remembered it as your first love. The one that made you. But also broke you. Was it a painful memory or a happy one? What did you feel when you saw the brown wood board shine under the sun with the notes laid out up front?

Even if you were touching it with the jargon, it was a melody to someone. To me. The special corner of the house lit your face and lit up your memories today. The rays fell onto you and you were barely able to reach the notes. And you called it your first love. The love you saw from afar. The love you craved.

"Dust is pilling on."

You learned the piano. You earned it. And when you grew up you faced away. You yearned for it and yet couldn't have it. You longed for it and it was far away as if in another galaxy. You didn't know that touching the keys was about to change your life. change is what maybe you didn't like.

You wanted everything to go back to how it was. And yet it couldn't be undone. With the notes falling behind you, you were unraveling your worst sides.

The phases that would reveal themselves in the arms of your strings. The brief period of sorrow. The brief moment of melancholy. The brief moment away from your first love. Hurts in many ways.

"Without repulsion, you accepted me."

The notes were haphazard but were climbing. Almost falling off the bass with that high pitch. The desperation and sadness in your voice. It would come out when you would touch them again. Hands move artistically over the monochromes and you felt yourself being accepted into the melody.

The melody that the strings played to welcome you back home. Back to where you always belonged. Acceptance. Maybe the biggest virtue of your life. being accepted by your first love again. Don't we all want that? The validation. The refuge. And the pain that seeps in. The 14-year-old you were in love again.

Would I get the chance to be accepted back? Without being looked down on? Would I get that comfort again? Or have I completely lost faith in love? 

Different kinds of love. My love for you. Your love for notes. And our first love being poles apart. Breaking you. But I am glad that you made up. You made your way back to it. From the dark paths and red sirens to the shining sunlight falling onto your masterpiece now.

"Don't let go of my hand forever. "

The keys were holding every shattered piece of you. Trying to mend them together into the whole heart you possessed as a 14-year-old. Was it successful? I saw you today. The scars were healing. The wounds were closing up and your blonde locks were your rebellious sign.

We both had to let go someday. But we were both teens. Unsure of ourselves. But sure of our first love. We didn't want to let go ever. And yet life had nefarious plans.

You returned from the murks, blood, honking cars, broken glass, and sirens to the shining rainbows with drizzle on the railings. Someone by your side. Someone you loved. Someone who loved you back. Acceptance and no hate. Just love.

"I really can't do anymore."

The blood on the road, vision blurring out, hyperventilating, and the car that was honking in the shadows. You were hurt. And the repair was going to take time. The time you were away from your first love once more. Knowing very well that it was going to be your last love as well.

The keys were playing on their own. As if burning up a harmony that was trying to heal you. Your tears were flowing on your wounds and it burnt like hell. Only to bring you back to it one day. The self-hate was there. The voices in your head telling you that you were not worthy of the spinet. Not worthy of being even near it. And yet the notes were desperate in despair. Longing for your recovery.

I was waiting too. I was a little late to the show but I couldn't see you anywhere. Your hands were paining. Paining to the core to play the ivories and let the pain flow. But you had to wait. For all good things to happen to you again. To be together again.

They had to wait. Wait for you to return from the shadows. Shadows of self-hate. Shadows of worthlessness. Shadows of pain. Your shadows. Shadows you loathed.

"You will be there to watch over it all."

The sustained violin notes had joined in the melody. To play for you. To pray for you. Your first love was there. Placed gracefully in the corner of your house. The brown blazing off, watching it all. Proud of you. You were healing, putting your pieces back together. So that for once you could be there for your first love. As it was for you

You may not be my first love. And I may not be able to give you a part of myself for safekeeping.

But I promise to be there for you. Watching from afar. You are a memory in the corner of my heart. Playing the keys.