Violin

After a long weary day, I sit by my balcony, gazing into the night sky, wondering how I would swim amongst the stars. Just like being in water, I would gently push the stars with my hands as I thrust my body forward, flapping my feet, exploring the deep spaces of the universe. There I would see angels, maybe I will be an angel too.

My neighbour, the violinist, must be dreaming too, for the music from his violin floats into my thoughts, as I sketch my hopes on my notebook. We must know each other, the violinist and I, because our art is exactly alike! The imperfections, the doubts, the strings and lines, two artists, creating art while everyone else is glued to their screens.

'You and I, my dear violinist, at this very moment, when the world doesn't know us, are really true artists, for we do what we do just for ourselves, to soothe out souls as we imagine. We practise and practise every night, hoping. I write a poem about us then I let it go because words are not enough. I go back to drawing. I don't think we will ever meet but we don't need to. Thank you for your music.'




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