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Tristan Dumlao. And the violin sobbed ...



A violin sobbed. Piercing and pitiful.
She caused tears in romantics and irritation in prose writers.
The girl did not know how to cry. Thin long fingers caught a melody.
Sounds formed into a beautiful song of cruel wind, which was born free. In a moment everything changed.
The instrument screamed for the pain of separation. It seemed that the gods were talking with its hard sounds. Another swing of the bow is another fate.



Her name was Maria. This name was not at all suited to this closed, strict girl, wearing a dark skirt and a black turtleneck.
Black violin ... White fingers. Black soul.
The violinist brought out unthinkable melodies that made people suffer, dream and believe.
She wanted to believe. Did not know how. Did not learn. She did not want to learn.
- Marie! - a bright French accent in the voice of this woman with an old-fashioned hairdo and thin glasses in horn frame, exploded the silence of the music.
It does not matter. Maria did not pay attention.
The violin laughed hysterically. I did not want anything - just listen to music, be music. Slick fingers ran around the neck. All is not important.
The girl was smiling. From this smile people creeped over the back. Her eyes were of an uncertain color, and the cold of the starless winter night was looking at them. A violin sobbed.
In the heart of Marie, she always sang, her strange otherworldly melody, like the howling of a solitary she-wolf, the cry of an eagle locked in a cage, the noise of a still free waterfall.


The girl walked leisurely along the metropolis street.
Black hair, like wings flew behind her back.
A stubborn gaze forced people to stop and part ways, giving her the way. She was carrying music.
That natural living melody, which many of us hear only in childhood. Maria heard her always.
I have long ceased to be afraid of making mistakes.
Fear of error drowned the music in her head and heart.
She destroyed fear. Just like love.
by Pino paintings for sale
Anastasia Manuylova


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