The Right Places
There are some evenings where he sits in front of his computer screen and does nothing but watch videos of fingers pressed against strings. He has tried finding the right places, tried with his brother’s instrument, his father’s. And he has watched these videos. But he has never watched long enough, never tried hard enough.
And yet, he knows, even if he watches longer, even if he tries harder, that might not be enough. Because, look. Look at him now, keys clicking and clacking as he tries to distill feeling into words, to marry logic and emotion. This, this he has been trying for ages, since he was old enough to scratch a Bic across a piece of paper. This he has studied, has practiced. This is something he should be good at, these words and phrases and phrases and words. But he struggles here, too. He struggles in a way that he never sees the hands in the videos struggle, those hands always in the right place, at the right time. He struggles, never sure which words should stay and which ones should go. And it makes him wonder.
Everything makes him wonder.
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