Scribble's Scribbles: Octavia x Anon

>On the first day you saw me, you said my instrument was so big it looked like it played me.
>When the orchestra had its premier event, there was you in the front, with that warm, loving smile.
>You offered to carry my cello, even to carry me on your back.
>I flushed and I huffed, but even then you whisked me away like a princess in her youthful age.
>When I didn’t get first chair, and I sat huddled in my own doubts and fear,
>You asked me to put on a private show for you, and only you to hear.
>I didn’t know you cared for me like this, nor that you felt worried for me too.
>I just wish that one day; I can give my music, as a gift,
>To you.