One main test: You can’t waste time.

It’s easy going out and doing things you don’t know. No repeat parts.  
  
A severe tone? Start playing. Start writing. Dig in.   
  
The charge there thrills in peeling back from nothing as well as failing to resist your moment. Or ex-moment (now).   
I’m leaving you everything glazed or less remedial, along with fragments in B-flat, thinking them over.   
  
I saw remorse somewhere?  
  
(Should a lad be given a pianist’s shh?)   
  
Run for our false lives. Or not.