A Speak Through Running Fingers

I pounded the plastic for hours trying to convey the emotive heart with growing frustration, yet also finding myself understanding the problem because how am I supposed to blame a digital thing for not measuring up to its guts and strings version.
He says, “It sounds good. It sounds like a grand piano. Do you like how it sounds?”
“I don’t hear it. Actually I don’t ever hear myself play.”
Aghast, “You don’t hear yourself play? What do you hear?”
“I guess I hear the melody in my head and playing on this keyboard, I can’t feel what I hear.” And that really is the difference between the digital and the acoustic piano.
I’m so used to feeling my expression as my fingers gleam the keys that transcend the physical senses and brings me closer to the vibrations reverberating from celestial whispers.
With the digital, I’m pounding and hitting! I’m trying to speak, but I feel muted, as if I’m trying to actually hear spoken words form in dreams before realizing I’m dreaming, and of course words are never really spoken because a dream is really a moment of understanding the language of souls.
And then I hear the digital recording play back and the product contradicts every emotion I felt playing the big plastic box because I hear the melody from my mind and heart.
I sit down in conclusion after playing for several hours to listen and I realize that I just don’t understand it and maybe it is beautiful too, if I don’t expect it to do something that the acoustic counterpart does.