The record fills the room with music,
As it plays softly.
Its large, golden petals shimmering in the dim sunlight.
A new song begins to play,
And the record continues to spin over and over in circular motions.
Lyrics float out
Of the flourishing flower,
Which blooms from the surface of a wooden box.
But when the record stops playing,
The air becomes empty.
It feels dark and lonely.
And the music no longer fills the room.