Strings speak to me
as no other does,
but not with words,
not in a world that is ridden
with so many words.
When I was young
it was
ugh...
practice,
but now
'let's go chat for a bit'
me and my violin.
I can tell it everything I need to say
with the stroke of a bow.
I can whisper to it
my slightest grievances
with the longing pluck
of a callused fingertip.
The walls hear our conversations,
the door,
the lamp,
the rug,
but they keep
quiet
and let us share our lives with each other,
even if it sometimes
sounds ugly.
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