A single pink rose is placed on a Persian horse's back as she heads from her small town to the big city. Shoes filled with coffee spark the curiosity of lilac coloured cats as they chase marshmallow clouds through a chocolate sky.
Dancing her way into a green tinged city she admires the age old architecture of the rain invested metropolis.
"Here are where dreams are made" she writes, as vanilla scented candles melt onto the charred wooden remains of her nightmares.
Ukelele strings resonate off a blood red sunset as her melodies echo past eager ears, a sound as fresh as the summer breeze.
"The future is the answer, not the question" shouts the town crier, his bellowed tones lost in the bedazzled glory of her possibilities.
If music be the food of love she'll sing until hearts are full and the thirst of her ambition is quenched. For she is she and you are you, her rose petals fall in shadows, awaiting the kiss of silent truth.