archaic-stranger:the music studentshands tracing the worn keys of a piano the sound of repeated scal
archaic-stranger:the music studentshands tracing the worn keys of a piano the sound of repeated scales echoing down the hallwayspending hours in a practice room, playing until your fingers know the notes as if you’d been born to play themthe discordant whine of strings being brought into tunesloppily drawn treble clefslistening to pieces until you know them by hearta rush of excitement when you pick up your instrument, the knowledge that you’re going to create something beautifulthe silence in between the last note and the audience’s applauselearning to play your favorite pop songs and movie soundtracksmusic swelling, the orchestra working as a whole to bring something into beingdelicate flutes and the beautiful low tones of the cello dried roses from long ago recitalsthe satisfaction of getting a difficult passage rightcrumpled pages of compositiongoing to concerts with your friends, critiquing the interpretation of the selected piecescallused fingers from hours pressed against the stringsfolders of sheet music stacked on your shelvesetudes you’ve played a hundred times, ingrained in muscle memorypretending to conduct the orchestra while listening to your favorite symphonies through headphonesplaying with your eyes closed, feeling the music in your body and mindthe conductor’s notes scribbled in pencil during rehearsalthe puff of rosin dust at the first stroke of the bowconcert clothes, crisply pressed and sharp blackhitting a powerful chord on the piano, letting the sound ring until it fades into nothingness -- source link