I pick up the case,

This case holds a song.

A song I play over and over,

Striving to get it right,

Striving for perfection.

My bow glides around the tightly wound strings,

A piercing sound fills the empty room.

The sound is ample as I play the familiar melody,

With each note, I drift farther away from the reality that consumed me moments before.

I pretend there is an audience.

The audience watches me, but I do not watch them.

I hope to impress whoever is listening,

I hope for brilliance.

In that moment,

That instant,

I am no longer a thirteen-year-old girl.

I am

A musician

With my violin,

Just trying to make music.