play my violin again

I can’t even touch my instrument.

I remember when I was still involved in orchestras and groups people had names for their instruments – Penelope, Bassie, Violet. I always thought it was ridiculous – not because I thought it was dumb to name an instrument, but because I could never think of a name for my instrument other than my own – Amber. My violin was an extension of my body. It was just as part of me as the hands that bowed and fingered or that tingly gut feeling you get when you’re about to play on stage.

So my instrument went nameless, and now years later it sits all alone and dusty – still nameless, and I can’t help but feel I’m alone and dusty just like the violin, missing my other half.