Through         
                 the door, a new house,
                      A new world to explore,    
              An invite into her life,
                        A glimpse at how she lives,
                I feel the floor and see
the walls,      
  Like I've been
   Trapped          
Outside          
And up        
the stairs,      
Another        
glance at        
      her existence,      
      These outfits        
     She never            
wore or          
hasn't yet,      
              The artwork                
             Never shown,            
The stupidly
precise efforts,
Just hidden away,
Then more stairs,
And rarer treasures,
Ink with so much meaning,
Those precious few kept tidy,
The unimportant left at random,
And already my mind calculates,
Deduces her habits and style,
But little matters more,
Than the words.