Maybe my violin doesn't mean a thing to me. Maybe it's all a lie. I'm pathetic and made myself believe my violin meant something to me. Perhaps it's all a hoax.

What is "meaning" anyway?! What's the use of something meaning something to someone. Why should it be of any importance. I'm just kidding myself, maybe my violin means nothing to me. Just like everything else.

It's all a game just to pretend to have something to do in life. What's the fucking point of continuously pretending after you've already discovered it's all nonsense anyway? Why should I keep fooling myself, pretending to love music?! Do I feel anything like brilliance or great passion when I play or listen? No. When I play it's never good enough to admire, and when I listen to someone else play all I feel is either envy or upset caused by being dragged into depressing music. Where did the deceitful beauty go?

Why should I feel any attraction towards Jim Morrison? He's dead for God's sake! His poetry isn't even that good and he can't sing. Why should I be craving to finally go back to UK? What's the point. All I get out of it is agony now, and when I get there, I'll get more deceit, probably useless unreal happiness? It's all a fucking game.

I used to think I'd sacrifice so much for my violin, my music � but why should I? If my violin doesn't mean anything to me how can something else mean less, less than nothing? Why should there even be the question of sacrifice?!

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I feel so

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Why do I love playing then? It gives me shoulder ache and neck cramp when I can't relax as I play. It never sounds good enough when I seriously study. My bows are worthless. I don't get anything out of it. Nobody's pleasured when I play. The neighbours even bang on the wall when I play after 10pm. Or they used to at least.

But there's this empty spot next to my cupboard on a little side table � and it's empty.
My violin goes there.