I am a pianist. I'm one of those who majored in piano performance in college, only to drift away from the challenge of rigorous practicing after graduation. As work, and marriage, and babies came along, there was no time for laboring over Chopin or Brahams several hours a day. Occasionally I'd pick up the old music, the old friends. But occasional practice is no good for that kind of music. The relationship was rusty.
Memories. Some things are committed to memory better than others. A lover's face. A special place. A precious moment. Tender words. And music -- music in the memory, truly in the memory, is a burr that cannot be removed from the cloth it's embedded in. I think some of this music is carved into my soul.