I watch my fingers slide down the ebony and ivory steps. As I reach for the perfect piece of the puzzle that is my favorite melody, I feel the sharp corners and edges catch the webs of my fingers. Every sound and every moment of silence needs to be precisely timed, or the whole structure collapses. I know that by the slightest twitch of my wrist, I can make the piano sound like a thousand voices, or like no more than a whisper. My limbs release their pressure; they give way to the silence. The hammers hit the strings. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I feel the vibrations course through my body.