Niche

It's not that I haven't found my creative niche, it's just that my muse and I are now taking a small break from each other due to creative differences. Some may call it a little extreme, but I find it absolutely necessary. It's not as if we aren't seeing each other at all. We still see each other sparingly--but only as needed, and certainly not in excess.

I find this sort of vacation from one another is something every couple must face. If you were to see too much of your partner, you would grow too accustomed to each other and would begin to take the other for granted. An every day ritualistic event that is seemingly forced becomes insignificant--and isn't that precisely the point of being together? Of being the other's significant?

Of course, I suppose there are some people who enjoy the thought of an eternity with monotony; an eon without excitement. For some, the thrill of the chase is lackluster and pointless. What's the pint of having something if it's such a struggle? Why not take the easier path? The path of least resistance? It's a path--clearly others have gone down there before. There is simply no point in forcing something that just isn't meant to be.

Of course, some would argue that is the point. The fight, the win, the triumph, the work--it is their very reason for living. The path of most resistance is a path, no different from any other (save for the brambles and sand traps), and yet it makes all the difference--even if the end is the same. It's the journey that counts, and the only way to show you truly want something is to fight--and win--for it.

Back to the matter at hand, though. I find that my other self and I had grown much too complacent with each other and our relationship. I know the body well, I know how to touch and hold it in a way that no other could--in a way that brought out sheer magic in its voice. But soon we tired of each other. My attentions strayed elsewhere; it sensed my discord and began to deliver lackluster performances during our private time together. In the end, we thought it best to part in hopes that we could once again salvage our relationship when the time came.

That time has come now. I have begun to feel that well-known itch that means I long to recapture its body. I have seen it watching me--dare I say it?--longingly from across the room. I know now that though there may be brief moments of dissonance in our lives together, they will be only that--brief.

And so soon I will reach for it once again. I will cradle it in my arms and apologized for ever making the mistake of thinking I could leave it--because I know now that I cannot. It is every bit a part of me, just as much as my arms and legs and hands and thoughts. Don't mistake me--we have forgotten each other to some extent. It will take a bit of practice before its dulcet tones once again ring from my bedroom. My fingers will be clumsy; my hold awkward. I will bruise and it will be too rough on my tender neck. My arms will quickly tire of holding it up. I will despise the tedious exercises it demands I go through to regain my stamina. I will drop it; I will want to hurl it against a wall. I will shut it in its case for days on end in frustration. But I can imagine that soon its sound will ring from wherever we stand together, our music will be harmonious and people will once more come to hear my violin and me.