The overture requires it's conductor to bring out the life hidden in its introduction and carry each unique part to follow/ to say its time. So does my heart/ needful of practice. A practiced hand capable of directing the furry of notes orchestrated by life's score/ to move here, place this sound there/ evoke emphasis on such areas to enrich your entire symphony.

Sometimes there is too much, pages that must be removed, the assortment of too many composers vying for a part in your life. I have sought mentors, someone willing to explain how something can weigh in me and not in others. They can't protect you from the sharps and the flats, but they can provide instruction on how to correct such errors from reoccurring, allowing your best self to emerge. However, they won't be there forever.

At some point you have to trust your judgment, draw the lines, and create your masterpiece. It's ok if it doesn't fit in with someone else's interpretation; just don't shy away from harsh criticism. Desperation/ despair/ loneliness: the harshest conditions to move the heart through. I wish I could say they were quite, that during those breaks, the music was still, that the accompanying musicians didn't require that this piece be played by a soloist.

Try as hard as I might, I can't drown these feelings out with sound, but what practice has taught me, is that my instrument will never fail. Apprehension is an arpeggio, I can play this broken chord and it will be lovely. I may not receive a standing ovation, but I will finish. fine.