Tears on the streets, moon in the sky

I like to sing. I know I sing well. My voice can be heard easily on the streets where I walk, above the sea on the open areas of the ferryboats and delighted under the moonlight, near the beach. But I never sing in front of musicians. I don't have any of their technical knowledge. The only time I tried, it was slapped back on my face and the beauty that I was unable to show him layed there on the floor, like a bird I offered to him and he could just take it in his hands and break its neck and throw it away. I felt like a child that shows you her first drawings and you tell her she should never draw again. Indeed.
I learned to love the music his fingers did without never trying to acompany it with my voice, even if it was burning my soul. I said to myself that I should never try to sing again. I failed. If I could never sing again, I'd be consumed by the flames inside me. BUT I never sing in front of musicians. I can't. I know I'm not perfect. I know I don't know shit about it. I learned to keep the silence and close my eyes and hear every single detail of the song they play to me. And if sometimes I come to tears, I keep it silent and make it sure they can't hear.