Messages from beyond.
The tantalizing truth is, not only have I become by birthright, a curator of a
museum of curios, but a treasure hunter.
As someone, who would look for clues to find X marks the spot, I have
no compass, no map, and no burning desire to be in this position.
The clues are instructions, written on paper in her hand, telling me what
things are, or what to do.
Even if I didn't happen across these, pinned or adhered to items, or in layers
of lace in musty trunks, they are notations burnt on my brain.
Told from an early age, these things are important. Words like: heritage, history,
heirlooms, antique, vintage, collectible, ephemera, provenance...
I see my own plans fade. I falter, as wishes of a lifetime are pushed to one side.
Trying to realise my full potential.
I have fallen into the trap. I am lost in the maze, and have been lured into the
Labyrinth.
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