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a/n: Ah...a musician's take on her instrument. I wrote this one after a particularly long, wonderful session of practicing my violin! R&R please!

“My Love”

...

It’s smooth, ebony wood with a shiny finish. The strings gleam up at me brilliantly, begging me to stroke them with the soft hair of my wooden bow. I can hear the pleading call for me to let loose and create something beautiful from inside my soul.

My violin…my heart…my soul.

It begs me to touch it, to let my fingers dance across the black fingerboard in a melodic pattern. I can hear the music calling to me like a gentle lover, wishing to be attended. Music…the only language that can fully explain my every thought, desire…wish.

Music…my outlet…my being.

As soon as I have my instrument in hand, I can feel the music well up inside me. It is an extension of my soul, the unspoken language of my heart, and the story of my life. Within moments…reality dissipates, and I am alone in my sanctuary…my haven where only happiness exists.

Reality…non-existent…unimportant.

I soon transcend into a place where worries can not follow. My mind is at peace, and my body conveys its emotion…its passion through the soaring melody, and vibrating notes coming from my instrument.

Love…anger…sorrow.

Each emotion is played out against the strings. If you listen closely enough, you can hear which part of my story is being told.

Love plays out in long strokes of the bow, soft, but present, and lingering tones. In anger, the hair comes down hard against the strings. Loudly accented notes ring with a rage one could only understand through this universal and profound language we call music. Sorrow is even easier to identify, with its long, quivering notes. The music itself cries for me as I take the melody and empower it with my own passion.

My violin…my life…my love.

"My Love" © Rachel Morales 2008