I stretched my fingers out. Looked at them. Watched them flex under my skin.
They were itching. Not in an actual, I want to scratch them because, physically, they itch.
I could imagine it upstairs. Sitting there. Alone. Waiting for me. I imagined the room. The white carpet. The beautiful huge windows. The light of dusk filling the space. I wanted it to start raining. Pouring. Sure, it’d make the room a little darker. But the water, dripping down the windows, which took over almost the entire wall. Actually, a couple of walls.
I love the windows.
I imagined sitting there. My fingertips touching the smooth, cool surface. I could almost already feel the way my chest would fill with breath just to let it go. How the whole, empty house would fill will the music. The music I made. With my voice and with the piano, bending underneath my fingers. The words I wrote spilling from the depths of my lungs. The rain adding to the noise.
Oh, how I wish it would rain.
Either way, I’m going to have to go. I need to play the piano now. When there’s a piano in an empty house…
Goodness, how can anyone say no?
Plus, I just heard thunder.