Geoff played the music not for practice, but to just let himself go.
It was not something that non-musicians would understand. Whilst you had to learn the technical skill, whilst you had to practice again and again, whilst you could perform for hundreds upon thousands of people, making them cry, making them laugh, making them feel.
It was not the same as when you played for yourself. For when you played for yourself, the notes were not meant for anything other than to just let go. The flats were the sad emotions, the sharps the angry ones. The faster rhythms urgent, demanding release, the slower ones were the lament. The sorrow. The lost memories.
He played until his fingers ached. Then he put down the violin and just stared at it. Tears fell down his cheeks as he shut his eyes to just let himself feel the grief well up inside him.
Tomorrow he would do the same again. And the next day after that.
Until Geoff could truly accept that she was gone.