We lived together for a while in that apartment, so many stairs, no elevator.
Your hands were big and very white, mine smaller and not as white as yours. We played in totally different ways (Lutheran, you, Italian from the Michelangeli school, I).
The piano was your instrument, not mine, my hands were smaller, yours big and very white. We both loved Bach.
I will never forget, as long as I live, your performance of Bach’s Fugue in C# minor, BWV 849, WTC.
If you don’t read this message in a bottle in a few days or weeks … it is OK. You will, some day. In this world, or another.