A Girl Inside My Violin

I opened the zipper of the case and then lifted it open. I pulled off the strap then gently took the neck.

I roamed my eyes through every part of it. As if it's alien to me that I can't seem to stop staring because of its awesomeness.

Every inch of it is perfectly made and polished. Its smooth bronze-colored wood surface, its silver strings, black wooden pegs, and most of all, a deep and shadowy f-hole.

I always imagine that a girl is inside of it. A girl very beautiful and talented. I bet she's a singer or a dancer.

Whenever I play this precious instrument with my bow, the tune reminds me of a girl with a soprano voice.

That's why I call the imaginary girl inside my instrument as Sofrea. (Pronounced 'SOFREYA')

I would've decided it to be Sofia. But where is the uniqueness in that? So I think Sofrea is the perfect name for a girl with a soprano voice.

Oh, if you're wondering what I'm talking about, then I'll tell you. But promise me you won't think about her too!

Okay, so. . . . . . . . . . I think there's a girl inside my violin. There. . . . . I said it.

I imagine her as a girl with a tranquil aura. A girl with soft brown skin, an obsidian wavy black hair with ivory bangs covering her forehead, stormy gray eyes, and pale pink lips.

I imagine her voice as beautiful as a combination of a phoenix, a siren, and a harpy, mixing my violin's tune.

And that is what I've been thinking about.

That a girl is inside my violin.

THE END

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