The Music Box of Memories

I wrote this poem because I wanted to convey the message, that- 'Even though humans may die, they still remain alive through memories'.

• Short story
• Non-Fiction

								
In a picturesque dainty village in Scotland, there lived an elderly woman named Mrs. Esther. Just like any widowed lady, she had silver hair, twinkling eyes, and a heart that held more stories than the ancient oak tree in the village garden.
Mrs. Esther’s days were spent tending to her flower beds, feeding the birds, and reminiscing about her youth. But there was one treasure she held close to her heart- a music box. It sat on her windowsill, catching the sun’s rays each morning, casting rainbows across her room.
The music box had been a gift from her late husband, Mr. Esther, on their wedding day. Its polished wood was etched with delicate vines, and when Mrs. Esther turned the tiny golden key, it played a hauntingly beautiful melody; a melody that echoed the love they shared.
Mr. Esther had been a violinist. He was so extravagant, that he could make the strings weep and dance at the same time. Their love story sounded like a symphony: moonlit walks, unending kisses, and evenings spent listening to Mr. Esther play by the fireplace. The music box held those memories.
As the years passed, Mr. Esther’s health declined. His wife cared for him, and her heart broke with each faltering breath he took. On his last day, he whispered, “Promise me, darling, that you’ll keep our love alive.”
And so, she did. The music box became her solace. Whenever loneliness threatened to engulf her, she would wind the key, and the melody filled the room. It was as if her husband’s spirit played beside her, his fingers brushing the air.
One chilly autumn evening, Mrs. Esther noticed a young girl sitting on the bench by the oak tree. The girl’s eyes were filled with tears, and she clutched a violin case. Her name was Amalia, and she had just lost her parents, who were also violinists. Their music had been silenced forever. She now had to live alone with a trusted housekeeper, who had served the family for decades, surviving on the little money that her parents had left for her. The poor girl’s relatives found no sympathy in their ant-sized hearts.
Esther invited Amalia inside. They sat by the fireplace, and she shared stories of her husband, of love, and of the music box. Amalia’s eyes widened as she listened. “Could you play it for me?” she asked.
Mrs. Esther hesitated, then opened the music box. The haunting melody filled the room, and Amalia’s tears flowed freely. She picked up her violin and joined in, her notes blending seamlessly with the box’s tune. It was as if Mr. Esther’s spirit had found a new vessel.
From that day on, Amalia visited Mrs. Esther regularly. They played duets- the old woman played the piano and the young girl played the violin, bridging time with music. Mrs. Esther taught Amalia about love and the magic of melodies. And Amalia, in turn, reminded Esther that music transcends lifetimes.
Months went by and now Esther decided that it fit best to adopt Amalia and take her into her care. Amalia, who had seen no true sympathy after her parent’s death, was overjoyed.
After about two years, on one spring morning, as the cherry blossoms bloomed, Mrs. Esther handed Amalia a large envelope containing her will. She left all her property, all her money, all of her husband’s and her own lifesavings and most importantly, the most valued inheritance, the music box, for Amalia.

Amalia smiled through tears as Mrs. Esther laid back with her eyes faintly open, a slight smile on her face, and she knew it was time. She gave the music box to Amalia. Tears ran down Amalia’s eyes to see the person she loved go away from her life once again. She hugged Esther, who pointed towards Amalia’s violin.  And as Amalia played, Esther closed her eyes, feeling Mr. Esther’s presence once more. She hummed the melody one last time before she went to be with her husband.
A note handed to Amalia by Mrs. Esther read, “Dear Amalia, even though I’m gone, I will always be in your heart. Always remember, to keep our love alive”
And so, the music box continued its journey, passing from one generation to the next, carrying the echoes of love. Mrs. Esther’s room remained filled with rainbows, and the oak tree stood for millennia.
For love, like music, knows no boundaries- it hides within the notes and shines in the sunlight and lives on in the hearts of those who listen.
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