There was a girl, who wrote all day and night. Many stories flowed from her inkwell. But alas, the inkwell dried and there was and end to the story facilitation. The girl became indebted to life’s changes and alterations. Her life became a blur of changes and improvements. The stories never landed on pages, but remained in her heart. They mounted and mounted, in that black hole known as our memory.

She would often ponder and wonder, will my stories ever come to light? But as time gently passed on, it never seemed right. Time does that you see, it forces us in so many directions and asks of us so many roles, it has so many parts of us to play.

The girl who wrote stories out of loneliness and finding or needing love. She wrote about what was real to her in her mind. Oh the stories she can tell now since she’s moved beyond.
No wonder this girl is now a woman, time made it so. And indeed she did grow. She was granted wisdom to bestow.