The sound of the sorrowful piano plays into my ears as I sit on the floor of my plain bedroom. Once, it had been a mess; whenever you swept your eyes over my room, a tut would be uttered underneath your disgraced breath as your critical eyes landed on my dirty laundry that were scattered carelessly on the tiled floor or the numerous stacks of confused papers and books that covered my side table, desk and the edges of floor.

The view from my room has never been luxurious, only seeing the rooftops of aged houses and the filth that loitered on them throughout all kinds of weather. It still looked ugly during the heat of summer, when I would sit on my bed and lean my head out the window, hoping for my skin to be briefly touched by the summer wind. And in cold evenings when the world clutched desperately onto heat to keep their bodies warm, or even after a treacherous storm that hung over our heads for what seemed like weeks.

You always had a strong disliking to my room. You rarely entered the space and hardly settled for the night, but we preferred to be at your homey, mellow home anyway. Your colorless walls didn't have paint peeling in the corners of the room and water leaking through the cracks in the ceiling whenever the rain poured from the sky. A bed that didn't creak whenever one would toss and turn in their sleep, or an odd stench that lingered in the stuffy air.

But now my room is bare, like the vast sky on a clear day where the birds that fly high have no place to conceal themselves and the light kept within the sun can radiate brilliantly onto the soil of the land. My books now hide underneath my bed and my clothes packed neatly into my closet drawers. My walls are plain and the floor can be seen.

However, though all my trivial items now are being kept from the eyes of a stranger, if they were to suddenly peer into my room abruptly, you can now effortlessly see the cracks on the ceiling and the paint that curls as it shrivels from age, limply drooping before breaking off into crumbled pieces of dust-like specks onto the smooth, cold floor.

I lay on the floor of my bedroom, my head resting on nothing but the cold tiled floor, and I listen to the song of the sad piano play into the emptiness of my heart, waiting for it to be filled with something to distract what I truly am inside.

But my heart, my soul and my mind, they are only filled with what the night is made out of: A void in which the light fears to travel in. The darkness that holds the planets in their given placement in a universe that constantly expands.

I am now only a mere shadow of my past self. The silhouette of my disfigured mind clutches the sides of reality, attempting to differentiate what is a hazy memory or a simple dream.

The piano sounds lonelier since you've released the gloom concealed inside of you and disappeared into the sunset with a smile that is still burnt into my mind.