Violin Love Letter - February Writing Challenge

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My Beautiful Violin

When we met suddenly, seven months ago, I never imagined you would become such an integral part of my life.  I didn’t know what I was missing before I found myself in that small violin shop, on a hot July afternoon. 

Curious about music and eager to learn the magic of exploring my creative self, I watched the shop owner proudly handle her beautiful wares. I warned her that I knew nothing about music or any instruments. 

I had been led there by a desire to replicate the songs played by your ancestors and longed to learn how to recreate the passionate vibrations that travel through a person’s soul or fiddle a merry jig that enraptures the body into uncontrolled toe-tapping.

I brought you home that afternoon, excited to learn the language that would make you sing.  Perhaps I was slightly disillusioned as to what it would take to learn how to communicate with you.  I picked you up, placed you gently under my chin, and held the bow lightly to your strings.

Then you screeched at me… 

The first note I played on you was gut-wrenching.  Your strings scratched, and your bow wobbled.  The shaking of my hand, impossible to control. 

My heart sank as my brain raced to send corrective signals to each hand, each responsible for a different action.  I pressed harder on your strings in desperation, my mind trying to prove that increased force would produce the sound I yearned to hear.

I had pictured our lives together and wanted to hear you sing as beautifully as you did in the store when I met you.  I felt my desire and determination to improve spread through my heart like wildfire. I accepted that this relationship was going to take some work. 

We’ve now had months of lessons with a very patient instructor, hours of practicing in solitude, so no one could hear the tormented sounds you made.  Slowly but surely,  we’ve learned to communicate with each other. 

There were days that I nearly ended your life.  A flash in my mind, a Rockstar guitar death of spectacular fashion.  A prized guitar demolished against a stage in a fit of rage in front of thousands of screaming fans. I stood in my living room, my brain craving the rush of endorphins that would flow as quickly as your wood fibers would split apart. 

Instead, I set you down and walked away until I regained my sanity.  I forced myself to remember that it wasn’t your fault.  You only make sounds based on how you are bowed.  As long as you were in tune, the rest was up to me.

Our time together has grown, and my skill has improved.  There are fewer days of frustration and more days when my fingers instinctively know where to land, making a nearly perfect sound.  I get a rush of excitement as I complete simple songs without error.

Even though it has only been a short friendship, I must tell you… I have fallen deeply in love with you. Each day, I learn a little more about how delicate you are and how best to make you sing. 

You occasionally bring pain to my fingers, but you always bring joy to my heart.

My beautiful violin.  We will never make it to Carnegie Hall, but together we make each other better.

This story was written for a Writing Challenge on Medium.  If you like this story, please go to to clap for the entry.  The story with the most claps as of February 28th wins the title of "February Winner".  You can search for more Love Letters by searching WCFEB2018 on Medium.  Enjoy!


Kandice LeafComment