Classical music

makes me sad when listening to it. It brings me back to a time I'd rather not remember - my days in Australia. For many reasons really. It reminds me of cold mornings getting ready to go to school. It reminds me of how Melbourne smells like. It reminds me of pain and feelings of being lost, but the saddest thing is not even knowing that I was. 

As I listen to Suite No. 1 in G (Courante) by Bach as I type this, I am reminded of how my knee was scraped purposely as she drove out of the carpark on the way to my music lesson. It bled, and she didn't care. I stifled my cry, and when I arrived at my piano teacher's house, she saw it and put on a band-aid on it for me. She asked me what happened, and I probably lied, saying that I fell. 

I am reminded of how she used to play the classical music channel on the way to school when she'd drive me sometimes. I am constantly on the lookout on when she'd hit me in the car. Listening to classical music reminds me of how she'd force me to play three hours of piano every day, and I'd fall asleep pretending to practice. 

Classical music reminds me of how she used to take me to places, like restaurants and theaters because she had to. It makes me miss Melbourne, knowing that I will never set foot there again, because she's still there and probably will be for a very long time. It reminds me of how I got through 4 years there, until she left me one night. I begged her not to go, but off she went. Like I was nothing to her. I am nothing to her. She never loved me, I was a burden to her. Listening to classical music almost makes me miss her. 

Classical music also makes me feel nostalgic. I'll never be the concert pianist I'd wanted to be when I was younger (I had a brief dream of becoming one). So whenever I listen to classical music now, no matter how beautiful the music is, I associate it with pure dread and sadness. 

I wish I could just enjoy it. 
I wish.
I wonder if she misses me, even if a little bit.