I watched you play that violin;
your forehead wrinkled with frustration
as your fingers fumbled
with each bumble . . .
but I thought it was beautiful.
You have yet to play for long,
but you're really doing well!
I say these things, to your deaf ears,
for you refuse to hear
that your playing is beautiful.
Your determination spoke wonders
of your motivations.
You'd never give up,
even if it was rough.
P.S.) I think you're beautiful.