A letter to my violin

I first met you just before my eighteenth birthday. So I’ve known you the whole of my adult life – over thirty years now. Crazy or what! We’ve seen some things, haven’t we? Done some great stuff, been to some great places.

I remember that day we first met. In that back room in that shop in North London. I was so nervous. I had a choice to make and I wanted to make sure it was the right one.

You were the one. I don’t know how I knew but I knew. I’ve never doubted it. We just fitted together. We always have.

I called you Hamish, do you remember that? Not the best nickname when you were already over a hundred years old. And French.

In those early days, I put in the hours to really get to know you. To bring out the best in you. I wanted it to be perfect. I yearned to be with you above all else. When we came together, something special happened. There was a connection. You reached down into my soul. You expressed what I could not express. I didn’t have that connection with anyone else, with anything else.

And then other stuff got in the way. Other people. Other commitments. Other priorities.

Time passed. My life changed. You were still there but I didn’t even really see you any more. Didn’t touch you. Didn’t connect with you. When I caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of my eye, I still treasured you and what we’d had, but couldn’t bring myself to think about all that. I think I knew it would hurt too much to remember all that I had lost.

violinI don’t want it to be this way. I don’t want our time together to run out. I look at you, really look at you, and you are so, so beautiful. I trace your scars with my finger and know that I am the only one who will ever know how you got them. I pick you up and your curves feel so smooth and so reassuringly familiar. I know I am the only one who will ever know how to handle you just right. My hands instinctively know what to do. This feels right.

I’m scared though. I nearly back off and walk away. I’m scared that it’s not going to be as good as it used to be. Scared that I can’t do this any more, that I don’t have this in me any more.

So I start small. Start simply. I take it slowly. A few precious moments of reacquaintance. It is not as it was, not straight away, but there’s a stirring of a remembering. Something rings true. Something resonates deep down inside. I realise then how much I’ve missed you.

I’m sorry for all the wasted years. So sorry.

It will never be the same again, I know that. It’s been too long. Too much has happened.

But for now, let’s enjoy this moment.

It’s so good to have you back in my arms.







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