Musician

My violin, a passion that is my obsession, one that makes me vibrate. It both punishes me and rewards me, it makes me soar and then lets me fall. The smell of wood, its feel. I caress its four strings with the bow, I press its neck firmly until notes emerge, reborn as feelings. Its touch against my neck, a forced hug, gruelling repetitions. Both of us lost in the loneliness of my room, united in the search for perfection, until the melody transforms into art.