Within each visit she will scan the room and fixate on some new discovery. There’s such a plethora of childhood essence that fills every drawer, shelf, windowsill, or once bare drywall. The endless toys, playful fragments, and even remnants from some stranger’s past life is daily fuel for my hermetic existence.

I sense she recognizes my motivations but can’t fully comprehend the true origins or motivations. She wants to find this magical force inside, sensing it too can be shared or passed on. Time is in her favor but sadly unsure of mine.