I’m initially in a panic.
“I can’t use this. I need to use this. I use this a lot. What the fuck can I do now?”
I stare down at the instrument I’ve used to create my sad melodies for so many years, heartbroken. I’ve dreamed about replacing it. I’ve thought about being wealthy enough to buy the top of line replacement. I’ve always imagined that it would make me terribly happy to do so. Now, I just want it back in one piece.
I’ve done so much of my work with it; it is more than a tool, it is an old friend. In all my dreaming, I never imagined that it would simply be lost forever. I thought I kept it in such good condition. I thought it would last. I can’t afford to replace it now.
“I suppose I can try to work around those keys… Sometimes restrictions lead to further creativity.”
Plunking away, I instinctively press on a key, and it sinks, doing nothing. My head falls below my shoulders, and I let out a long sigh.
“This might take some work.”