The bow drawing against the thick current of strings.
Waves of audible emotions swirling around in a well of warm wood before being thrown out through veins of light.
Yearning, reaching, ripping my heart out and tearing it to pieces as I beg for more.
If God has a voice, it surely is a cello.
Torture me with a plaintive cello passage in a minor key, and allow me to touch the core of my existence. Let me weep. Allow me to double over in deep, rich melancholy pain and lock me up forever. I beg of you...
