Your mom loved playing the piano. There wasn’t a day when the piano wasn’t playing. She was always playing a song, different from the one she played the previous day. And though she wasn’t good at singing, she was a master when it came to maneuvering the white and black keys of a piano.
You grew up listening to her playing the piano every day, and so when she died and the house grew quiet, the silence became a growing source of anxiety. If it seemed too quiet then it was hard for you to ignore it, too hard for you to cope with the fact that your mother was gone.
Perhaps it was the same for your father. After all, it wasn’t a coincidence that your mom would start playing barely five minutes before your father returned home from work. The thought of returning to a silent house probably ate at him the same way it ate at you, but you don’t remember this.
You only remember when he began forcing you to play the piano and when he’d punish you for not ever improving. You remember how evident his disappointment was every time you pressed a wrong note and every time you couldn’t master a song.
Soon, the grand piano reminded you less and less of your mom and more of how much everything had changed.
Kyorinrin's Writing Dump 
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