I am a musician. I'm proud. I'm stupid. About two years ago, I was drawn into an abusive relationship with my audience. Every day I do my best to make the relationship work. I have devoted hours to thankless efforts; even my friends don't know how much time I spend. I try to stay true to myself. I try to give my partner what she wants. But she doesn't care anyway. She doesn't listen, and there is no joy in music if it isn't heard. She doesn't care about me; and yet I keep coming back for more. I am a musician. About two years ago, I discovered the joy of composing music. I write music on my laptop: happy music, sad music, fast music, slow music; it doesn't matter. It's music and I make it exist. I invent the chords, I design the sounds, I sequence the drums and melodies, and I mix it all together to create a seamless quilt of sound. I love creating my own songs as much as I love listening to others. Dissect their songs and understand what makes them tick. Look beyond the bold phrases and hooks and find the gentle melodies and percussion. These little guys don't ask to be heard. They remain humble while contributing to the greatness of their singing. They do not seek recognition or evaluation. They do their job and they do it well. I should take notes from these little guys, but it's so hard to do what they do. It's hard to dedicate hundreds, even thousands, of hours to a craft, knowing that there's a good chance no one will ever enjoy it. I am a musician, I cannot go unnoticed. Unnoticed. So I continue in this abusive relationship. I put in a lot more effort than my partner. But I'm proud. I will not allow myself to be frozen by the icy negligence of my cruel mistress. I live for my music... middle of paper... When I do, she will rush in and shower me with fake affection and praise, or worse, she won't say anything. She will either love it or hate it, but the outcome remains the same. I will work like a slave, day after day, and she will neglect me, because I am not the only musician in her life. She will scour all available media for new works from all her “favorite” musicians. I only care about us when we release a new song. All we want is her love, but she doesn't love. She preys on musicians with vulture-like opportunity. I'm not dead, but she will soon reduce me to the carrion that treats me. The listener will never let the musicians know, but she will use and abuse them until they are broken. Few people will understand it because they are stupid. Those who do it will not admit it because they are proud. We will endure all this because we are musicians.