Silver Sonata.
Cracked and dinged,
Cluttered and busy.
Missing pieces.
Loosely held together by adhesives that would not last forever.
But when it appeared above the curve of the earth, the solo of it rolling along became the song of which he fell in love. It the star, the true talent, he simply wanted to be a quiet accompanist.
He was, for a time, until the performer no longer had need for the background noise.
Like any machine, it needed repair. Returning from the shop with a never before seen shine.
New parts.
New paint.
Refurbished.
Carefully restored.
As if it were a collectors item, it was hidden away.
A glimpse not even allowed to Its fondest admirer.
I love this, Connor.
ReplyDeleteYou are wonderful.