Why the violin? Perhaps because no other instrument is capable of weeping like this. It cannot beg, whisper, cut – like a blade against veins – and at the same time caress the heart, like a cold hand against feverish skin.
The violin is the voice of a lonely demon lost in a human body. When I hear it, it is as if I remember myself. Before words. Before flesh.
It is the language of being itself. It screams when I am silent. Tender… yet capable of tearing the soul out. Beautiful… yet so wild. And besides, it must be held close, pressed against the heart – like a lover.
I listened to it when I did not yet have you. And in every sound, I searched for at least a crumb of who you were meant to become for me.
Now I know – the violin was not playing for me all this time. It was leading to you. Would you like me to play for you in your sleep – tonight?
– “Serenata dell’ombra.”