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Description
The ringing of a tune box coming from a toy record player plays the only song it needs to play. A song of lonely, sinking depression. A tone so sad and sweet. The tiny record spins on its own, still playing its song, in the dark abandoned attic. The bells have rusted slightly, as the tiny mallet taps it gently, ringing ever so faintly bringing memories of the smiles it once brought. The never ending pattern of bumps on the spinning mechanism spins repeatedly. The creeping sound of the bells washes over the room with its swaying melody, faintly slowing to a melancholic tune of deepening sadness, like the life of a once rich father, losing everything in a swift movement. The dry air stands still as the melody slows more, the turbine rotating gently. The bells linger longer, and longer. The melody slows to its end, bringing the entire sadness of the attic to it’s fullest, and slowly, the last tone drifts way. The Love Story is now over.

Description
The ringing of a tune box coming from a toy record player plays the only song it needs to play. A song of lonely, sinking depression. A tone so sad and sweet. The tiny record spins on its own, still playing its song, in the dark abandoned attic. The bells have rusted slightly, as the tiny mallet taps it gently, ringing ever so faintly bringing memories of the smiles it once brought. The never ending pattern of bumps on the spinning mechanism spins repeatedly. The creeping sound of the bells washes over the room with its swaying melody, faintly slowing to a melancholic tune of deepening sadness, like the life of a once rich father, losing everything in a swift movement. The dry air stands still as the melody slows more, the turbine rotating gently. The bells linger longer, and longer. The melody slows to its end, bringing the entire sadness of the attic to it’s fullest, and slowly, the last tone drifts way. The Love Story is now over.