Once upon a time
You were beautiful.
A shiny, dark maple beauty
Of masterfully cut edges and curves.
The sweet perfume of freshly applied rosin
Cascading off your bow.

Now, you sit alone.
A bent, hobbling old man
Once a stunning Stradivarius.

Once upon a time
You were musical.
All pretty melodies and high, clear notes
Like rain on a cool, windy night.
That even a five year old with chubby fingers
Couldn’t mess up
The first time she held you.

Now, your strings squeak and shriek
And groan out of tune.
Parched of use and company.
Begging to be played
Just one
Last
Time.

Once upon a time
You were a friend.
The trusty companion
Of a young girl.
Following her between the lines of music books.
Teaching her the connection between
The languages of music and love.

Now, that girl is a teenager
With no time for a long-ago memory.
And you stay
A ghost in the back of her closet.
Sleeping under covers of thick dust.
Dreaming about concert hall heavens
And what once was and could have been.

But, you see, once upon a time
You were mine.
You always will be.
Maybe someday I’ll open your case again.
Brush off the dust and cobwebs.
Rub your bow with rosin.
Tune your squeaky strings.
And we’ll play together
As if nothing has changed.