He owned a white piano. Not long before I left, I sat down at the soft, weighted keys, slipped on the headphones, and started improvising.

I play in strings because it plays on mine.  I wrote it thinking of nothing in particular, but with a very clear, unrequited essence.  I saved this music on the piano. It may still be there.

We never speak.

I'm not a player of pianos.  I just played on this one.

Good night.