Monday, 1:23 p.m.

I am writing again.

Entire stories paint themselves on the canvas of my interior; I step into the other world and forget where I am, what is happening. I look up from my computer and realize sadly the dreary scene around me: blinds closed, bed unmade, one p.m. and I am still undressed. In my mind, the storm rages around me, feelings stir. The wind whips at my coat tails and the city lies dark around. In my mind, years of other peoples' lives flash before me; I have lived them, too. In my mind, life is bigger than just the measly one we are offered.

Years of disapproval and criticism bark at my door; I know I will let them in and they will tear my every page apart, until I start over, until my life peters out into oblivion. So it is. But for just one moment, the words swim undisturbed through my veins. The world is endless in imagination. For just one moment.

All is magic.