I want to wake up at five in the morning.
I want two slices of my sister’s sourdough bread.
I want the bread to be toasted evenly on both sides.
I want one packet of butter for each of the slices.
I want the toaster to take the chill off my skin.
I want coffee to do that for my insides.
I want enough creamer to turn the blackness into copper.
I want to remember to put on classical music every morning.
I want to be able to play “The Girl with the Flaxen Hair” all the way through.
I want the A key in octave five to stop distracting me with its cry.
I want to be alone with the piano for a while.
I want Debussy to come back to life.
I want to drown in the piano like the hard butter in the hot bread.
I want to notice every note bleeding into the next.
I want to forget about every mistake I have made.
I want to forget the room I’m in.
I want to forget the bright yellow wallpaper that reminds me of Soviet times.
I want to forget the freezing draught from the AC.
I want to forget that I am running on four hours of sleep.
I want my fingers to remember the notes without needing my conscious consent.
I want the few morning hours to feel like a separate day.
I want to know that learning the piano was worthwhile.
I want to check the calendar for today’s date and feel surprised.
I want to stay awake for longer than a day.