“White, yellow and orange
This is but a simple change
Things seen in reverse
Would suddenly become terse

Smooth the flow of words
Striking the sounds of swords…”

It began that way, for my mother was a poet. She talks that way, every time, even when she could have shortened her words and told me straight. Her way of speaking clouded my mind when I was young. Somehow, I never inherited her “hobby”, and thought she was weird.

One day, I went to school, carrying the my usual but actually REALLY WEIRD lunch box. It was made from an old music box my mom said was the family heirloom, but it was broken already. She thinks I’m the prince of the family, and therefore I have every right to put it in my service. Sadly, she didn’t remove all the mechanical parts inside, so I have to contend with getting the small fork that always get stuck behind some cog.

It was broken… but now it is singing…