I miss the feel of his fingers caressing me.

It's been too quiet lately. I always knew how he was feeling by the way he treated me when he got home from being away.

On good days he would gently caress me, producing calm, peaceful, even joyful sounds from me. Stroking me gently, we would fill the room with beautiful music.

It was different when he was high. Whether it was from drugs, alcohol or simply excitement from solving an unsolvable puzzle when he was high he would frantically stab at me. Loud, excited sounds were what he wanted from me and I did my best to make them happen. Frenetically dancing around me, we would leap and jump and soar in ways that shouldn't have been possible.

Days when he was angry or frustrated he would pound on me; beat shrill noises and harsh chords from me. Those times were hard on me; I bled sounds that were discordant and inharmonious. The sounds themselves hurt. But I knew he had to work things out, to take out his frustrations and anger on me so I stoically withstood the pain.

When he was in pain, he would stroke me softly, trying to coax soothing sounds from me, trying to find a way to make it all go away. I was his salvation then, particularly late at night when he had no other distractions left. I did what I could for him at those times. It would take time, but usually I would eventually soothe him, make it easier for him to rest and fall asleep.

I remember days long ago, before he was hurt. He had Stacy then. They used to have people over then, not many, only people who he felt he could trust. He'd entertain them, sing, and tell jokes even. He enjoyed showing me off, dazzling his friends with how good I looked and the sounds he could coax from me. I loved those days…He always made me feel special.

After he got hurt, he ignored me for months. He was in too much pain to try anything then. He didn't want anything, didn't want to be soothed. Didn't want to find joy or happiness in anything. He didn't want anything from anyone. It took a long time before he even tried again. But he did. Wilson made him. I've always loved Wilson. He's always there when we truly need him, even when he's not physically there.

But for the past months all he's wanted is more and more from me. Demanding, forcing me. Always bleak and dark. I hate when he's in those moods. Nothing is ever pretty when he's like that. It's been too long since there was joy or even quiet peace here.

Then he went away. Wilson came by and tried to make him go somewhere but then he left. I don't know where he went. But Wilson came by yesterday with that nice Lady who made the place neat and clean and bright again. Wilson said he was coming home again. Oh how I hope he wants happy sounds to fill his home again.

I miss his fingers, the way they stroke me and caress me. I need to feel him against me again.