You don't have to tell me

You don't have to tell me you love me for me to know that you love me and you won't say it anyway
because of the way the world works
But I know that you love me
just like you know you love me
in the most honest, genuine way possible
And we leave it there
there's nothing to say and nothing to do
it exists, this thing between us
it's so real, it's so imaginary
we let it exist
you don't have to tell me
I don't have to tell you.

The piano sat in a corner, collecting dust I avoid eye contact with it on most days It's a reminder of a time I used to play ("Music is your thing!") a reminder of a dream I left halfway something which brought me so much joy previously now made me think of my inadequacies of all the jazz I didn't learn But today as I despair into the deepening night I look to it for comfort and it stands there, just like it has all these years I sit down and run my fingers over the keys and I confess I rage and mellow and battle and my stiff fingers trip and slip but I play, and play, and play and I am rescued all over again

Music was my thing,

it always has been.