I am a music box.
Though I embody the finest science and craft, made entirely by hand, I exist only to create beauty and pleasure.
I can be played closed, as a mystery.
I can be played open, when every part is open for inspection.
Yet though every part can be seen, I cannot be understood as a mechanical object.
I need the touch of human fingers to wind me with energy, adjust my gears, and start my music.
Without human contact, I am merely a lifeless decoration.
“All About My Mother” by J. S. Quinn
15 hours ago