For the first time in months, I felt like playing. I think it's the result of something a girl at practice said on the walk home. She loves to dance. She knows that there are people with ten times the technique she does, but it only makes her want to work harder.
I used to be that way. I would work and I would win. Well, not always, but most of the time. I was cocky. Well, maybe just more self-assured and confident in my abilities. But then things happened, and I lost motivation. My energy was spent thinking---deciphering puzzles and brain twisters.
Today, with the view of the rooftops and skyline that I love, and raindrops occasionally tapping on my window, I played. I haven't played that in a long time, having learned it 12 years ago. (Holy shit!) I've played it occasionally, grudgingly satisfying my mom's request to play it
My fingers, defying faded memory, hesitatingly touched the keys. Old lovers, reunited in a cloudy haze, recalling how to touch, where to touch. It was frustrating, wanting to satisfy myself, to hear the response I wanted to hear coaxed, enticed by my fingertips. My emotion imposed, creating emotions in sympathy.
It was far from perfect. I knew how to apply pressure to different parts, creating the sound I wanted, but overall, it was lackluster. I wasn't disappointed, because I enjoyed the moment and the mass of abstraction surrounding me. Certain notes cried out in heart-wrenching oscillations soothed by calm lullabies.
It's just frustrating not being able to satisfy what creation demands, and in turn being left unsated. Thankfully, today, this merely left me looking forward to the next time, a challenge mischievously smiling.
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