The soft ivory keys shined fresh and new, untouched. The young girl touched the keys with delight, running her little hands across the keyboard. The loud and soft sounds played all at once, like a thunderstorm. Unopened sheets of music lay above her. She took one down, and squinted at the dots which were scattered about the page. Just seeing them gave her a little thrill. How they made music she had yet to learn, but she looked forward to learning with all her heart.

The little girl began lessons. The melody of nursery rhymes flooded through the house. Her little fingers stumbled over the now-foreign sounds. She often became disappointed that she couldn’t do it perfectly, but she never gave up. As time went on, the little girl grew. The music became more sweet and her fingers tripped less. Her love for it’s sound grew as she began to learn more difficult songs. She longed to practice everyday.

The clocked ticked on and the instrument found a new home. The girl was now grown and she spent her time teaching other children to play it, just as she had learned long before. Many of children were grateful and loved hearing their teacher play them the graceful melodies, and the serenades inspired the student’s own dreams to learn and to play themselves.

As the girl grew old she continued her teaching. Her favorite possession’s once white keys were now yellowed, but she loved it all the more because of the memories that went with it. Every time she sat down to play she could feel the same thrill that she had when she opened her first sheet of music on that day long before.

She eventually died, leaving it behind her. Her family, who knew that she would have wanted it, donated it to a nearby school. It was used at the school for many years and was played by many students, whose musical dreams were only just being realized. Then, it was moved to an old practice room.

There, sadly, it was disrespected. Eventually, it was even destroyed. Strings were ruined, and keys fell off. Now, when many of the students walk into that room they feel a sadness. They wonder how such an instrument could be so mistreated, mistreated enough to fall apart. Though they never knew its story, they could feel it. Yet, there it still sits, alone and untouched, no longer to feel little hands play nursery rhymes or larger ones play minutes. Broken beyond repair, it sits waiting for someone to love it again, never to receive its wish.