Most people find it strange
that I do not listen to music.

Instead,
I make it,
I play it,
I create it.

As my bow draws out sound
from the depths of a hollow wooden body,
my own hollowness starts to become filled.

Music lights me up from within,
softening a hardened heart,
dampening a dried up soul,
invigorating a worn out body.

But every song must end.

And I find myself
dropping back into reality,
into a world of dull emotions,
into a place where connectivity wanes,
and the hollowness sets in again.


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