writerfromva

The first time I saw her, she was clutching a sketchbook in her arms. It was very plain-looking with a black cover and golden spirals.

Every week at church, she carried that sketchbook. I never saw her without it.

Megan was staring out the window in the backseat of her mom’s minivan with a blank expression painted across her silent face. She shivered at the thought of spending her whole summer vacation at her grandma’s house.

"It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters." - Epictetus

I was 11—just a little girl playing on the swing set. I saw the picnic table, a white mother and her daughter were walking toward me. They were getting closer and closer as their baritone steps bared down on the rough pavement.