The wind-up wooden doll sits in the corner, silently ticking away the seconds. It's old, faded paint and surface chips giving away its history. It was once a playful, colourful companion of a lonely little girl. But now it just stares. Occasionally its creaking arms move, as if trying to find its way home. Then it stops, silent once more. Every once in a while, it's as if the wooden doll is waiting to be remembered, and loved again.
