I remarked that it seemed as though the piano was meant for me. From the wings of Lathai's amphitheatre I had expected a modest little thing. Though, the instrument that he pushed out onto the stage was rather a grand, albeit scuffed and scraped affair. Despite its years, it still plays beautifully; with only one bum note. But that is a matter easily rectified. And so, I had remarked that the piano and I were akin, for we both bear the signs of being well loved.

I had learned to play as a boy, whereupon I would give practise upon the fortepiano in my mother's parlour. Her preference was the Moonlight Sonata, and mine Clair de Lune. How lovely a thought, that two people could hear moonlight differently. My fingers had carved those notes so many times that I could play both by heart and ear alone. Though, this turn I chose not to. Some things are too sweet and too sad to evoke. So, I left them to rest for now. Maybe another turn, when my heart is stronger, I shall sit and play the Sonata of my mother's, and imagine myself in her parlour once more.

Suppose the feeling is raw for me. For, I do not want to imagine and pretend at being that younger man. I want to be him. I want to be him now. Here. Now. In this life. Now. Nothing less shall do. Nothing more would sate me. No reminiscing nor commemorating is enough. I am unreasonable. But I want another life. Ten years more; thirty, even. I still cannot abide it. The notion that I must allow this earthly body of mine to wither and die. It is spring. And that is where my soul is at; still in verdant bloom. Surely the Gods can see this injustice that has been brought upon me?

Though I did not play the old melodies of mine and my mother's, I did play for Lathai. First, a jaunty saloon ditty. And second, his own preferred Nocturne. Opus nine, number one. The melody suited him. Sombre in parts, but shining in others. He in his anoixis; I in fthin?poro. Autumn. I ought to be dying back. No place have I amongst the blooms. I do not want to play the old songs. I want to forge new ones. Ones that would be just ours.