As my hands graced the long forgotten keys of the piano, I remembered songs that I knew; not because I heard them, but because I had played them.

There were some songs my hands remembered well enough to play, even after a long hiatus. My hands moved of their own accord, remembering songs that were difficult to play at the onset, but which became natural over the course of time and practise.

Other songs I remembered for their haunting melodies, but I could neither remember the notes nor how to play them. But as I slowly pieced the notes together, the memories of those melodies returned to me.

It was not like they had never left, but more that they had returned after a long break. It felt, not like it was just yesterday, but instead; I could see all the time that had gone by and all that had happened in the interim.

What is a break but a moment of rest? In music, this is usually symbolised by a whole host of different symbols that demarcate a period of rest. Even the rest symbol itself indicates the length of the pause.

This rest is important. It is a part of the melody–knowing when to stop and take a breather before continuing. It’s a bit like a full stop or period; except it signifies a specific time period when one must not play.

It is a soundless moment.

In music, these periods when one does not play is as important as the points where we are playing.

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