Outside in the grey, she gazes with longing at the stone columns and solid wood doors.
A small figure before an impenetrable archive of art and beauty.
“It’s beyond my reach.”
She looks down at her bare, dirty feet and empty pockets.
Her heart is aching with desperation.
Imagine her shock when the director appears, opens the doors wide just for her.
“It’s all yours-I bought it for you. Come explore and enjoy everything your heart longs for.”
And it’s all beautiful beyond words. She laughs, sings, dancing down the halls, crying for joy. Never for a moment does she forget that it’s all the director’s work. Without him by her side, she’d behold nothing but scratches on canvas, lumps of marble. With him, nothing is static. Her bare feet leave no smudge on the floor, but she hardly notices that they are clean. Her company puts all else from her mind.
He is her ticket in. He is the life pulse of it all. He is her living museum.