Listen to this

A year previous from now
I walk out of the shop
With a violin as brown as looming trees in a great forest.

The sides curve in like the letter 'C'
The pitch black neck is so dark it absorbs all light that comes to it
Four strings stretched out on the neck, each one thinner than the last

I know that it is easy to mess up
It is so small, so quiet, yet so insanely complicated
It feels as if I will be blinded by the white shine on the smooth, dark wood
But horrible faults are worth it, for the wooden object gives such a nice sound

There is a reason why an orchestra will play a violin concerto
A single violin is able to fuel the energy of the piece,
The impetus of a crescendo, of the crash of the cymbals, the roll of the drums
One is able to grab the audience's attention and say--
Listen to this.
It is important.

I do not have a maddening love for my instrument, nor do I hate it.
But I know someday the hairs will snap
Or the frame will crack
Someday I will not pick it up anymore.