She wakes with more inspiration than she can bear/bare (?)… so many directions she can pour her heart into. To feed her thirst she must voyage out of safety.
So she begins the journey to make it out - bathing, primping, dressing, eating and out she goes…
Her destination? A world of destiny and possibility awaits her, aisle by aisle.
She scours and scours searching for what stories have yet to be told, what places can she explore, what borders she can cross, what imaginations she can unfold.
Item by item, as the vessel she carts overflows, her cup within depletes… the excitement has run dry. She is past her time and the creations that so patiently endured in hope must prolong expectation to another day.
Will they stand the test of time?
