The only light in the room is the rays of the burning amber evening sun, making way in through the window. The room is quiet, I hear air escaping the vent on the floor in the corner. Her lavender bed is made up to sublime, her tattered, torn blanket is swaddling her aged teddy bear. I walk up to the window. Sitting on the windowsill is the pearly music box. Little hand painted vines of roses wrap around it like a ribbon would to a present. A little silver ballet slipper sticks out from the back. I hear the gears turn as I rotate the slipper. I set it down and gently lift up the top of the fragile box and my eyes focus on the small scaled porcelain ballerina who was now rotating gracefully on the tip of one fuchsia pink slipper with the pacifying melody of the music box. To the right of the box lay her ballet slippers. A weak smile made its way onto my face as I thought back to the times she would refuse to take them off no matter where she went. The pink had faded to a light salmon and the dust-covered soles were tearing at the toes. The slippers were over worn and the elastic straps that once held her petite feet in now laid limply to the side. I was soon taken captive by the sweet songs of the music box and I can see her again. She is frolicking, tip toeing around the box, using her blanket as a scarf waving it around, dancing angelically with the chimes of the box. Then the music box stops playing, the ballet dancer stops twirling and she is gone. The room is gloomy, raw, and lifeless once again. I close the box, and head for the door. With my hand on the doorknob I stop and look back, observe the room once more before finally leaving the memories behind.