Shadows-Labyrinth

Sometimes she holds her bow at just the right angle and the catgut disappears, fading into the warm brick of the practice room she never seems to leave. It is then that I can pretend that she is playing the air as she’s always wanted to, that the wooden shapes so carefully held in her graceful hands are nothing more than crutches for the music that she holds so close inside of her. Sometimes I can close my eyes at the exact right moment and believe that the music is coming from within her, instead of from this contraption of wood and string and catgut that she holds more tightly than she has held any living being. Sometimes, I believ