Dare to imagine. Dare to be. Books are the seeds. Dreams are the soil. The fruit of the harvest, a world reborn.

The interruption did nothing but earn her a similar slap, as I’m sure she knew it would. Sometimes I wondered if my mother spoke up at the wrong time on purpose. As often as we...

Answer me, you good-for-nuthin’ wench!” The pain bit instantly as his hand connected with my cheek. I shook my head in answer to his crazy questions, feeling a rise of warm tears.

My fingers combed through my dark hair, short and straight, landing in choppy, uneven ends nearly level with my chin. The color reminded me of every evil character in any fairytale. It seemed all were...

Be honest because you stole it, not because blue/green/yell a little yellow. Dandelions just don’t meow like regular lions.

The blood dried on his good hand, he passed his palm over her hair. It curled about his wrist and sprung back into displace as the breeze fluttered by. In the firelight, it was golden...

… on the lawn one late summer day, her pale hair tangled because she’d cry if anyone tried to brush it, spinning around and around until she got so dizzy she fell in a pile...

There is nothing in the world more pathetic than a bunch of wilted dandelions.

Dandelions, like all things in nature are beautiful when you take the time to pay attention to them.

… ancient days of sorrowancient days of pain-heartaches of the pastslowly began to wane …(from gleaning granules)

Have you ever felt as if your dreams were more memorable, more alive, than what you knew to be reality? Have your dreams ever seemed so tangible as to make you question upon waking if...

I realized at that moment – observing his form move further away without once turning back – that I’d already begun to rebuild the imaginary wall between us. I was shielding my heart with stone...

I’ll always want to be your friend, Annabelle. Do you want to be mine?”My head nodded like mad, ecstatic, all on its own. I disappeared among the shadows again and watched my new friend until...