Why certainly, words possess power.  They do!  But releasing their magic requires combining and arranging those words in the right order.

With bowed head, I act on that glimmer of hope; I pour out my heart to God in prayer as the moon slowly rises higher in the night. It shrinks to its normal size, no longer the ominous monster it appeared to be earlier.

The magic of reading happens when an author’s written work strings you along until your imagination, aware of your wants, molds the tale into an extraordinary world to be visited frequently—perhaps dwelt in for years.

If only I could take it all back. If only I could change a few early choices, those seemingly unimportant, insignificant choices. How vital they appear to me now. How different my life would be if I had not allowed even the least degree of sin to enter in. But time can be turned backwards for no one.

My father continued to tinker on the lawnmower, repairing or destroying it, it was hard to tell. If curses were magic words, the machine would’ve run like a charm in no time. It probably could’ve mowed the lawn by itself.

A closed book will lie there like a dead horse. But an open book will kick, buck, and bolt through perceived adventures like a wild and free stallion. So hold on.

The choices were mine. The errors, mine. But if people only understood how those mistakes were never intended. If only they understood how I never meant to end up here. Not like this. Never this broken. Never this stained. Perhaps if they understood, they would cease to speak of me in the cold, judgmental way they do. If only one person understood.

Butterflies are the most beautiful creatures ever. They should call them beautiflies, don’t you think?

The most magical words a person can utter are 'Once upon a time.'