Whenever I see a dead animal in the street I think about how horrible of a death that must be, to die alone and mangled on the side of the road soon to be nothing more than a thin rug of fluttering fur on dried tar. I wonder who their parents are, and if they belonged to or with someone.

Ever since I read "Dancing the Dream" for the first time in 7th grade, I've kept a little notebook of my personal musings on moments I experienced, emotions I felt, and things I observed. I think I'm going to start writing here to share my thoughts with everyone else who's interested in reading.