stop at the intro

I have heard of a little girl who only wrote the most inviting introductions to stories. She would only write her introductions on paper that she made in her studio from tree leaves and spices that she would set on a fine mesh sieve woven on the axes of her past and present. She was so cautious pouring her soul onto the sieve and mixing softly her instants onto the paper-to-be. Her story ideas would be pouring ever so rapidly and impulsively on the about-to-be-paper in such a way that her stories started in the pigments of the paper itself and was readable before and after the paper was ready and dry. It was like the harmony and the melody intensely and clearly told over the length of two measures only. Once upon a time, I went beyond the introduction, but then I stopped.