I imagine myself in a city far away where no one speaks my mother tongue, at night, playing music all alone with headphones on after a long day. I see my fingers caress the keys, thinking about the piano my father bought for me years ago, sitting lonely and abandoned in my parents' house. No one has touched it in years. No one will probably touch it anymore. I think about it and it thinks about me, the only person who knew it. And then I keep playing on my cheap keyboard that I also grew to love, feeling a little guilty but at peace at the same time. I play a music for myself and only for myself, a song nobody can hear, a melody composed very far away from where I will be at the time. It's warm, probably summer, but a soft night wind blows from the open window. Some light comes in, probably from the streetlights, nearby traffic lights change the color of the room in a very subtle manner. This is the only reason I can see the keyboard. I don't need to see it; my hands remember the keys of my childhood piano, placement of every key ingrained in its muscles, and for a short moment, the two pianos are united in my mind and therefore in reality. The ghost of my childhood piano still guides my fingers and never lets go of me.
Sometimes you know the inevitable not because it has bloomed in your heart. Sometimes you know the inevitable because you handcrafted it with your hands and sweat. You went to a different city. You bought the cheap keyboard on a cheaper deal because the seller felt your loneliness. You set it up at 3 am trying to be quiet to not wake the love of your life. Inevitable did not happen. You made it inevitable. However, the flickering lights - they were prophesized.
