It's not the strings of violin you touch, the very strings of my soul that seems to resonate as you draw near.
Don't pull and trudge them. My fingertips bled enough and you're dangerous when you're near my soul so much.
It stirs so much in me, inspires me to the moon, momentarily I can do anything. You move me beyond myself, out of myself, far into the future and so far into the past that present, time merges into one. Nothing really matters, when you're here, in my womb.
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