Letter to Keyboard

Dearest,

I do not quite know when I grew a liking for you. Writing instruments and base have always been my favourite things in the world -- pencil, pen, paper, crayons, any kind of colours, chalks, markers, sand on a beach, dust on anything wooden, fog on a window, water on table -- they are just incredibly inconspicuous friends of mine. No, inconspiculously incredible friends. It was quite obvious thus that I when I was first exposed to you, on a dusty system at my grandfather's office which had MS Word, I took this instant attachment towards you. I then returned to school to discover that a 'computer' in the computer class was more than Run-Commands. I was secretly angry at the teacher for not teaching us the glory of Word and the multiple things we could do on it, with you.

Years later, while in the Library attempting to refer, or study, or at home aspiring to master some other fancy software, I would (and still do) end up opening a new Word Document and compulsively touch you, to create worlds of words. You -- you are that instrument which enables me to as quickly decipher all that takes shape in my mind. You are that being I seek a rescue in when I want to be violent and when I want to pacify too. You allow me to be random, and beautiful. You make me feel useless and happy. You are my dichotometer. While my fountain pens help me doodle, you cure me with what I want to write.

I love it how you convey that you have a mind of your own and how you must take to my fingers else you refuse to yield, much akin to a wand in the hands of a wrong magician. Keyboard, you are my murder weapon whenever boredom attacks. You are my piano that creates melody and my drum on to which I beat my heart out. You are my playground where I return time and again with or without a game on my mind. It is just a nice place to be, isn't it?

As I was looking all over for replies, I notice how you have been mildly wailing to fetch my attention towards you. Sorry I didn't earlier write to you. Sorry again that I did not look after you well for patches of time. Please don't create a wall of sentiment between us which will be difficult to break, for with you is the only way I know to break, bend and or make.

Let me love you back to me,

K.