It's hard for me to capture a single thought in writing these days. There are too many thoughts moving in too many directions at once. I remember being out late, after ten thirty when the city was dark and quiet. Eerily silent considering the amount of life that crawled about daylight and dark. I often did a poor job of carrying an umbrella for the two of us as we made our way down through the dark, up into the trees, over the bridge, and across to the building of interest, entering through the back and taking the stairs up to the second floor. The building was completely empty then except for us.

I sat next to her on the piano bench as she unfolded music and starting keying in notes that fit together much better than she gave herself credit for. I believe she mistook the broody nature of my presence for boredom, but it was more of a trance like state where the music floated over me. I loved sitting there while she played, and I loved watching her fingers contort to match the notes and chords that responded to her touch with proper sentences. The language of the music perhaps or maybe a language of her own self expression.

Once afterwards we stepped through the abandoned corridors of the building where dim lighting and glass covers showed art done by amateurs and experts gathered together with a common focus. Photography, painting, and sculpture lined the halls and adjacent rooms. I had been through alone in the daylight, but sharing the darkness gave it a better feel than ever before. Tonight I miss sitting on the bench and the feeling of being completely alone among the art and music. I miss the piano and the rain and the umbrella that tried to stop it. Most of all I just miss her.