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This time, they made sure to go slowly. There was no reason to rush, and all the reasons not to.
Perhaps this why the violin fits the human soul fit so perfectly—only such a simple, mortal object can hold its fragility and turn it into a prayer.
“No, I mean, it’s all in pieces.” “Yes. So are we all.”
it must risk breaking if it is to give everything to its song.
Tomorrow is tomorrow. Over there is over there. And here and now is not a bad place and time to be, especially when so much of the unknown is beautiful.
Who needs the Devil when people can create a hell like this themselves?
From the darkness, Katrina willed her violin to build their world. To let there be light, let there be colors, then calculus and molecules and starlit vistas, let there be home after home after home where no one yelled and no one was beaten. You can do this, Katrina’s song seemed to tell them. This is your universe. Your creation. Please don’t be afraid. Let’s not be afraid anymore.
This world is for you. You. You. You …
Listen to me. Listen to me now. For if this dogwood bow can force beauty upon you, then I shall shove every part of myself into that beauty. I shall make you feel all the joy, the terror in loving who you are.
Breaking comes from knowing exactly how it could have been.
If magic is more than illusions on a stage, if magic can actually change the world, then what is reality but a song that one imagines and sets free?
Instead, she offered her love and her truth, regardless of whether or not they recognized them as such. She offered all the music she had, that they might hear their own music and play.
With no need for a beginning, nor any reason to end, the music continues. And so, no matter who you are, where you came from, what sins you have committed or hurt you have endured … when you are alone and there is no universe left to remember you. You can always, always rewrite your song.
Life could not be avoided. Death comes for everyone. But that did not mean one could not be healed. That did not mean one could not be saved.
One might insist that no lives were saved. One might scoff that nothing was returned. But that is as it should be. The songs will change, but the music is never truly gone. A life ends. A life begins. But always, it is here for us to play.
