my fingers play the color of the roses, the notes aching with unspoken desire, my violin singing the shades of my being, giving shape to the sweet perfume of crimson, blushing topaz and buttery gold. I cannot help but let my fingers be my thoughts, the notes humming deeply within and the violin pulling the strands of my longings so tenderly. A lover, that is what an instrument is, and my body shivers to it's call. I will never be able to give up the violin, even if the voice is only for me.

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