You don't get explanations in real life. You just get moments that are absolutely, utterly, inexplicably odd.

The boy had the towering arrogance only seen in the greatest of artists and all nine-year-old boys.

M is for magic. All the letters are, if you put them together properly. You can make magic with them, and dreams, and, I hope, even a few surprises.

All around me darkness gathers, Fading is the sun that shone, We must speak of other matters, You can be me when I'm gone Flowers gathered in the morning, Afternoon they blossom on, Still are withered in the evening, You can be me when I'm gone.

He was no longer scared of what tomorrow might bring because yesterday has brought it.

She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon. You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood. She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here.

I'm writing. The pages are starting to stack up. My morale is improving the more I feel like a writer.