Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

I miss my piano. I’m not the best student of the art, but when I go away I realize how much my weekly piano lesson and my piano mean to me. They are childhood companions, not in the sense that I knew them when I was young. Instead, it’s in the sense that I am starting to know them, like a child learns, one step at a time.

I’ve taken piano lessons for almost three years now. I’ve acquired a great deal of technical, mental knowledge. I’ve acquired less in the actual music realm. I think it’s because my fingers cannot keep up with my brain.

But I hope that someday these two will meet. And when they do, there will be a great cacophony of sound, a recognition that brain and fingers have been working arduously toward the same goal. I will smile and then set to work. And I’ll play like never before.

I’ll never be lonesome again.