The Music Box

She was the ballet dancer in a music box,

He discovered sitting in the corner of his hotel room,

With curiosity, he twisted the key till it would turn no more,

Opened the lid and dutifully she began to dance,

Singing the same song over and over,

Dancing around and around in circles,

Against the backdrop of her vanity mirror,

He left the room and left her alone,

Becoming dizzier and dizzier and more lightheaded,

Singing to herself, for hours on end,

Desperate to please, with an urgency to enchant,

Even though he wasn’t listening,

Even at distance and-

 

The mirror watched her enthusiasm gradually slow,

And every time she faced it,

A teardrop slid from her cheek.

 

When finally, he returned,

He closed the lid,

Silencing her song, and returning her to the dark loneliness,

Of the music box,

He didn’t spare her another thought,

She was little more than an ornament to him,

A curio, a toy,

Her song was too sweet to be trusted,

Her dance too predictable.

 

That’s what unrequited means baby-

 

One day a stranger will open the lid of that music box,

Excited to hear her sweet music for the first time,

Only to discover she’s been waiting around,

Long enough for the key to rust,

Her clockwork heart to become brittle,

and the only tune she’ll have left,

will be a remnant of a broken dream,

A slow fractured melody,

Her favourite song ended with ‘once upon a time’,

She’ll struggle to find the notes,

That made her sing,

She’ll remove her ballet shoes,

For good.