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/full lives. Or not.