And the observer concludes. Her journeys aren't over yet, all her tales haven't been told yet.
Her stories crouch in the attics of her memory. They hide in corners, they gently sneak about in her head. Like little, kittens they hide in playfulness, waiting only to be found again.
Her stories are left to you. Left to you to understand. Left to you to write.
This observer is still here, watching from the shadows.
This observer now see you. And only you.