I wish I stuck with my piano lessons.
Instead I ran around like a wolf child.
I wish I had practiced my arpeggios.
Instead of sculpting mud forts with my brother.
I wish I knew every single scale.
Instead I mastered swashbuckling with a twig.
I wish I could play piano with closed eyes, keys gliding gently underneath.
Instead I spent nights eyes wide-open, under sheets, watchful for the boogeyman.
These nights I wish I could play Clair D’Lune.
Instead I can lament its distance.
Such a lovely distance, so ethereal to hear, so near and tender,
like memories of childhood, gently gliding underneath.