Dear Clarity,
I wish it wasn't my fault. I wish you could still forgive me! But, I beg of you, I didn't mean to. That one day I just fell apart, unable to hold me bearings any longer. I know inside you must understand; I wasn't even your size anyway. All I can ask for is you to understand, to forgive me apology.
From the moment you opened that case, I knew we would be a great fit. Oh, how you cradled me in your arms, like a delicate piece of artwork. I can still picture the smile on your face when you heard what I could do, playing your favorite songs, testing how high you could go until I finally squeaked. How much fun we had that day… yet I bet you never would look at me the same way again.
You and I, Clarity, played everywhere. In Chicago, Pittsburgh, even the Capitol. You knew I was getting old; that my strings and hairs needed a replacement. I didn't mind that, and long as you sill cared for me. But then came the day- the concert. While you were quickly bowing across the strings, you looked so happy; tapping your fingers up and down my neck… until it couldn't hold no more. I remember it as though it were yesterday; the wood snapping like a twig, the black of the fingerboard splintering, flying across the stage. The room went deadly quiet, staring at my broken corpse. They were all stunned at what they had just witnessed. But you were the most taken aback, dropping me to the ground as shock flooded your gaze. I tried, Clarity, I really tried!
Now here I sit, in this cardboard box labeled ‘Violin’, gathering dust like some ancient relic. I know you will never be able to see this letter, but I want you to know: from the first note, to the last concerto, we were a team.
… And I broke that partnership.
Clarity…
I am so,

So,


Sorry…

ƒ Your ¾ size Violin