She was created to be sketched on. Accustomed to tears, sunlight fade and whisky stains, her corners curled. Wild flowers are pressed between her textures, and with spontaneous page selections, she gifts a fragrantly apricot, timely word.
Her pilgrimage: one set of golden hands to another, giving what is needed— a word in season.
She is a creation. A song to be shared. Silent breaths kept for a quiet place. Open her with an open heart— her story will leave you a gift. Write it down but most of all, let its sentiment provoke a real change