Oh, Ficlets, where to begin?

I was almost creative one night on the beach. I was trapped inside several dreams – some real, some imaginary, some pleasant, some otherwise. I created love. I took love away. I traveled through time – more than once. I took the train. I took the bus. I drove. I went to football games, coffee shops, and attics full of memories. I saw ghosts. I saw God. I philosophized. I made up words. I was challenged and I challenged. I met boys with green eyes, blue eyes, and brown eyes. I lived in a small town. I lived in a city. I cried. I danced for no reason to no audible music. I learned what magic was, and not the fairy-dust kind. I went home. I left home. I reached nirvana. I wrote about this boy I met.

I’ve also discovered that I write about cars a LOT , and apparently subconsciously.

I turned into someone who hoards random lines from songs, snippets of overheard conversations, or sentences that pop into my head while I’m brushing my teeth – all to turn into their very own Ficlets.