Wind Me Up
The heart-shaped box reminds me of a dark wooden jewelry box I once had when I was a little girl. Instead of Barbies, I used to play with trolls and I would store their miniature clothes and hairbrushes, and the books I made for them, into one of the compartments of the box. I made the other two compartments into beds for a couple of my trolls. Every time you would open the middle compartment with the clothes, a song would play from a wind-up music box in the bottom. I treasured this box; I was in love with it and would listen to it sing on repeat, constantly winding it back up. Sometimes I wouldn’t have anything in it at all, to preserve the mirrors and blue velvet inside. There was something so special and beautiful about the box.
Years later, one of the compartments broke. I was getting older and it was time to let go of it, but it felt wrong to throw it out. So I took it apart and removed the bottom drawer with the music box inside. For the first time I saw where the music had been coming from. I remember being so fascinated watching how the teeth of a steel comb could pluck out such a lovely melody, out of a mechanism smaller than my sharpener. I remember watching the gears spin, all working in harmony to make one little masterpiece. I kept it ever since. Whenever I dig it out of my closet and wind it up, I remember the exact feeling of those days spent in my old room with my jewelry box.