I sit, in front of my old music box
cross legged, on my single bed
the small piece of porcelain
emitting a familiar tune
i've had it since I was a nipper
Beatrix Potter character
reading a story
to no one, but me.
each chime of a plucked metal note
taking me back to my childhood
tinny sound, drowning out the world
I ignore everything else
I wish i knew
what the tune was
and at the same time
I don't
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