Rush
It's a rush, hearing your first original piece on the radio. Idling in your limousine while other respected musicians in the car beside you has their eyes closed, and they are listening to your notes as they wait for the light--you feel like an emperor, a fucking god.
But nothing lasts forever; you don't see things like that anymore. You hear other classical pieces on the radio, and yours on the lift. You let the chauffeur go; you stop thinking about a new tour or a new piece. You stare at your hands, at your violin, and there's a hole, a gaping chasm that cries out to be filled.
Kahoko. And you are in Vienna.
It's a rush, doing your first line.
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thanks for the reviews, guys. how humbling it is to get to read them again. regarding updates, i still haven't got past the final editing part. too little time, eh. allie, i love you. ate andie, too, and yunie. bah.