Day for violin

 After creating a day to force himself to play the violin, Boram was able to savor his parfait a little more deeply. 

He had spent so much time consuming himself with the opinions of others. Perhaps we spend too much of our lives trying to fit in, and it was a surprise to her to spend part of her weekend in the cold wind, chirping birds, and the emptiness of falling petals. The time spent on behalf of others is beginning to empty; they are increasingly filled with unapproachable boundaries, and the back of a middle-aged man, with perfumed incense breathing through his veins, turning away from the railroad tracks, is painted on the canvas. They will play again what has been played. Once you know how to do something, it's easy to do it again.

That's what makes it so inviting, a stuffed shadow in a canvas of poverty.