A couple had wings. I cried when I touched them.
Some I never touched, never cleaned, never broke anymore because they had been deemed irreparable and basically destroyed. I kept them to the far back of the piano and mostly used them to shame myself but occasionally I would attempt to revive one and maybe one time out of 20 it would work.
Some were faded and worn and broken from overuse and abuse. They didn't want to be in my collection but had gotten stuck there and couldn't think of a way out. They sat in the front center always under my scrutiny, my doom filled negative eye on them confident they are about to suffer a fatal wound and be shuffled to the back. It made me cry to look at them, so obvious what their future is.
Others were damaged by neglect. ignored, taken for granted, used at my whim then put aside like an old tshirt you always loved but got stained and you can't part with it but you rarely seem to use. They sat off to the left. Present but under utilized and undervalued.
There were several in the middle that I had just wound up with and always complained about. i complained if I broke them, complained when I cleaned them, complained about the way they looked and complained about how much room they took up. Unappreciated.
There were a couple in fairly decent condition but I couldn't really believe it. I would periodically pick them up scrutinizing them for an irreparable damage fretting that I would find it then I would put them carefully to the right and sit and look at them for reassurance. They smiled placidly looking straight into my soul. One with wings. Oh that he didn't have wings. I wished I could break them off. They scared me the most. All of the rest were so messed up. How would I ever take care of them all and what would I do if more showed up?
Jesus looked at them and he looked at me. Then he took my shoulders and pressed me back propelling me backwards until we were far away. Then I saw the piano resting in Gods hand.
