Whistling filled the cluttered walls of her mind as she watched the steam fly up and away from the angry lid that rattled fiercely against the spout. Her water was done boiling. Her tea was perfectly steeped.
As she hesitantly took her first sip, with fear of burning consequences, the bite of sour tickled the sides of her tongue just the way she liked it. And as the warm liquid traveled down her doorway, she watched the steam leave the porous wedge of lemon she had thrown in her cup last minute.
The steam traveled with slow intent.
She wondered if the steam knew it would travel just to end up nowhere?
She wondered if she would travel from the place of nowhere?
And if she could figure out a way to leave, she would be sure to make it an adventure.