I didn't want to say goodbye.
I don't want to say goodbye.
I've held you tight as a breath,
And it's killing me.
You've moved on,
And the space you've left behind
Is all hard edges and drafty corners.
This isn't about you.
This is about me,
And the space
I won't let the next one fill.
I was never very good until college. I hated practicing...not for the obvious reasons (I actually liked playing). The violin's really loud, and my brothers liked to tease me about how bad I was at it. At the time my brothers' opinions counted for a lot.
I played until my second year of college. I was in the orchestra. I used to do badly on my seating tests so that I could sit in the back where the crowd was more relaxed, music stands were convenient places to prop snacks, and general disrespect reigned supreme. I fit right in.
The music building at my university was built in the 50s, and had been added onto a dozen times since then. It was a maze of back hallways and dead-ends. Along every corridor there were practice rooms, and ratty couches. There were always students, no matter the time of day, waiting to use the practice rooms. They hung out in the hallway with naked instruments in hand, and dog eared sheet music at their feet.
I loved it. I used to practice by listening to something on my headphones, and playing along. I played along to the weirdest bands like 311 or the Beastie Boys. I liked finding a place for the violin.
And then I quit. I didn't really want to. I wasn't a music major, and I started needing the practice time to study for my real major. And my violin started making buzzing noises. To be honest I'm surprised the thing lasted as long as it did. I'd dropped that poor instrument a hundred times coming home from elementary school (hey I was just a kid). It was only a matter of time before it gave out. When it did, I was a poor college student, I couldn't afford to buy a new one.
So I put it away. It's still in the closet of my old room at my parent's house. I miss it. I miss it still, but I haven't bought another one. I don't really know why. Sometimes when I'm listening to music, I'll know just where I'd play my violin. I had to put one CD away, because I started dreaming of it.
I think I'm afraid that it won't be the same. I think it can't be. I can't go back to that music building, they tore it down. I'll never find my friends from the back row again, its been too long. So I've avoided the violin. I should just play, and be happy with it. Maybe I'll try it. Maybe I'll sign up for lessons.