And when I play I cry too, I play Metamorphosis by Philip Glass and then I start improvising and it keeps getting louder and wilder and I just let my fingers play for me without thinking and it’s all coming back to me, all those lessons, and composers and Bach and Beethoven Sonatas and Schubert Impromptus and Lieder, with the lyrics, Mussorgsky and Rachmaninoff, Grieg, all of them, and I can’t stop playing and I cry while I play because I thought I had forgotten, like all the rest, but no, my hands remember, my heart remembers, and that’s all that matters.

I’m playing again and that’s all that matters


Ohne Musik wäre das Leben ein Irrtum

Friedrich Nietzsche

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