Writers do not have the privilege of sleep. There is always a story coming alive in their heads, constantly composing. Whether they choose it or not.

“…I felt each beat slowing as his breathe fell away from my world. “You’re going…”

“Growth in love comes from a place of absence, where the imagination is left to …”

“I never want to arrive. I love the ride.”

“...you’re in my blood spreading through my heart— pumping me numb.”