Human is another word imperfect. This is a story of me the imperfect. I was practicing on my violin vigorously getting ready for the concert that was in two days. I quickly came home and finished my homework so I could practice my violin. I practiced for hours and hours. My violin, a speaker, playing beautiful music. I practiced for longer and longer. My focused mind, calm and fast, sending instructions to my fingers that played the music. I practiced like this for hours and hours and hours and yet more hours.

The next day I did the same thing. Hours blowing past me like airplanes. This is it finally I decided it was perfect and everyone would like it. The next day I woke up early real early. I practiced one last time before I set out. The whole car ride there I was so confident. Confident that this much work would make me play it perfect. I thought about playing on stage with beautiful posture like a swan. My brown bow, swift and precise, dancing across the string as the music swells out …show more content…
I was late and I was the first performance. I checked the clock and I saw that I had two minutes. So I relaxed looking at the other imperfects and their nervous faces as they squirmed in their seats like worms in the hot sun. But then my teacher walked in and began the concert. She then called me up. I tuned then moments later I was in playing position my form perfect. My sweaty face, wet and red, stared at the rest of the imperfects in the audience. Then I started playing the notes came to mind I was calm and ready. My fingers maneuvering, like a door stopper swinging back and forth. My chance of being perfect. But then things took a turn for the worse. I forgot a measure and I stopped for a second and my teacher looked at me worried then I continued messing up another measure before ending. My reddening face, glanced at the crowd and how they