The strings wind around you, a sonic brace to your spine, but each bowed note takes a wafer-thin slice of my skin.
As they join together, great swathes of tonal colour fill the dimness of the room. You breathe them in, filling your lungs with the volume of their swells. So sweet and heady, your eyes close, your chin angles upwards. You are enfolded in the swirling mass of rising sound. But the same whirlwind that lifts you off your feet bears down on me like a tornado, tearing the breath from my chest, eroding my exposed flesh like a million years of wind and rain.
Skinless and raw, I am burned black by the light, caught in the moment of an atomic blast, and my outline etched forever into the wall behind me. Not by the music, but by the turn of your head and the settling of your gaze.