I can make out a change in your hands´ positioning between the second and the fourth try and again between the seventh and the eighth. I am trying to not let myself get distracted but since learning to listen I can never keep the recognition away completely. 
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Sometimes a rhythm you get stuck on transfers its pattern to my thoughts and they get indecipherable for a second. I usually recover them quickly but I will later tell you over dinner. We'll laugh about what you've coined our twin stutter. 
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Often this is where the scene dissolves. 
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But sometimes, when a new note appears for the first time somewhat confidently, I get curious enough to risk the unbalance. The choice feels unkind but I'm not really sure whom to. 
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I worry that I am too loud on the wooden floors as I make my way over. You´ve talked about painting this doorframe ever since you first moved in. The yellowing varnish catches the ceiling light in smudged lines and sticks to my temple as I lean into the wood.
 
 
 
Your feet are naked. One on the ground, one up on the bench. Your head on your propped up knee. 
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You´ve never asked me to keep clear and I don´t think you ever would but I always feel the need to remain unnoticed. I never cross the threshold into the room once you´ve sat down even on the rare occasion that you look up and ask for an opinion. 
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A sudden sharp note and I´m glad for your one foot on the floor as a reminder of the shared, steady ground between us. 
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You will ask me about some two-tone after we´re done for the day. When listening from the door I can´t imagine myself forgetting it. Later I can never put them back together adequately. 
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The sound of you quietly humming it for me, always repeating it twice until I finally nod, finds me again and again. A series of morphed lullabies dedicated only to my understanding. 
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Today I think I recognise the fragment you keep repeating. I cannot name what exactly is holding up to your full focus but I hope to always keep witness to your searching. 
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You told me early on that you don´t believe in writing down anything until it is finished and so the piano is often left completely empty save for your hands. The sight unnerves me when you´re not here. I cannot imagine having to carry around my ideas with me like you seem to do so casually. 
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I switch from leaning on my left leg to the right. The floor resettles but you don´t look up. Tonight you´ll cautiously clear my words to the side so that you can set the table for dinner. 
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I can always hear your hands waver a little then, too.