I’m no longer any on else’s violin. I remember so well how I was his perfectly tuned play thing.
He kept me in the dark and showed me off–should I play wrong, he’d pack me up until I learned the song.
I remember being a beautiful instrument for a beautiful man. He was skilled, he was handsome, and I played beautifully in his hands.
But slowly I learned to play in my own key. His untrained fingers lost their ability to play me. I left him alone a very long time ago.
But I play a pretty song. It’s haunting, it’s different, it’s brought another beautiful violinist along…
He loved me perfectly, he sang to me, made me hum to him right back. I never wanted anything from him, he was everything I thought I lacked.
He only played when he wanted a song. If he didn’t need my melody I wasn’t allowed to sing. I quieted my music, sat in the dark until my song was once more a need.
I forgot that violins aren’t meant to sit in a velvet case. Violins swell too beautifully to not be allowed to take up space.
If I’m out of tune he shuts the lid, I’m in the dark, he won’t hear me because of what he thinks I did.
I want to sing but he doesn’t want to hear from me.
For what’s the purpose of a violin if it’s not allowed to sing?