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The Violinist

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I always loved the way
you'd hold your violin
as if it would run away
and the notes you played
so beautiful
so sad
no one would ever know
that your instrument was
your violin was unlovable
but you found a way.
You put your heart
into every song.

Then you left your violin
maybe her notes were too sour
maybe her broken parts
demanded too much attention.
You left your violin broken
and longing for your touch...
if you listen close
you can hear her wailing
sad notes in night
not nearly as beautiful
as the ones you would play.
She waits for you.
She still waits for her violinist
even though she knows
she waits in vain

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