When I was thirteen,

my violin teacher looked me straight in the eyes and said,

"You seem like the type of person who gives up when things don't go your way."

And it was like a stab in the throat,

but I took those words and reworked myself.

I changed.

I changed every inch of my mindset. 

I fed my nerves courage in exchange for anxiety,

switched inadequacy for sleepless nights and a heart beating faster than any song I had ever played.

I bent myself around my violin

and balanced on the tightrope of its strings

and I didn't feel like I was that same thirteen year old girl anymore.

Like I was better because I gave everything even when it took everything and more away from me in exchange.

Now I'm seventeen 

and I play through the hardest section of 

my concerto

and it is as if the notes are folding in half,

the metronome is causing a thunderstorm.

There are sixteenth notes being tossed into the air and dropped but I'm clinging on because I've learned that with music,

there is no room for hesitation.

I finish the piece and glance up from the top of my scroll.

My surroundings have changed after all these years.

A new house.

A new violin with new strings and a new sound.

A new piece that, despite my efforts, is draining the life from me.

She looks up at me and simply tells me,

as if I don't already know,

as if I don't want this to be in my control,

as if I'm not donating half my soul to this piece and losing myself along the way,

"You seem like the type of person who gives up."