I had a dream last night that I was watching an old boyfriend play the piano.
He was on a high school-ish stage, playing something dramatic and complicated, from one of the white wigged composers.
And as I stood there listening, I remembered something – and even though I was dreaming, it was a real memory.
Of how I loved to press buttons when I was little – elevator, TV, but mostly – typewriter.
I would put paper in our fancy electric and punch the keys wildly and without stopping.
Having no idea how to type or where the letters were, having nothing to say.
Or rather everything to say, but no means to translate.
Just craving the feeling of my fingers racing across the keys, breathless with my need to put
my thoughts, my stories, my brain, my heart, my love, my self…down on paper.
And I woke up this morning, delighted.
To have remembered – both the dream and the memory.
And to have made the memory come true.
And to know that this is how it feels to love you.