Magic is Real

Magic is real.

It’s coming out of the tip of a pen, bleeding onto paper.

Out of the tips of fingers when you punch the typewriter.

Magic is real, staining white with black, covering a page with words and ink and sounds.

Magic is real, worlds that flow like a river, the places that make you smile and laugh and cry.

Magic is the miracles that bounce around the heads of writers, until they can think of nothing else but getting their hands onto a pencil.

Magic has to be let out.

Filling pages of unheard voices, cries from far away.

Things that are better to be read than said out loud.

Magic is real.

It’s coming out of the tip of a pen, bleeding onto paper.