Sometimes, as a writer, I live in a world of my own. I appear to breathe the same air and see the same sights as others, but ultimately, I'm alone and secluded in my own reverie not really seeing what happens around me. I hear things on a delayed timer seeing the emotions play across a face before the words come to full realization. I watch things in slow motion knowing what will happen, but still surprised by the events. Detached from myself, I see my movements, and hear my words as if listening and watching through a screen. The wings of a hummingbird occasionally slow down and I can hear each beat.

Someone calls my name and I snap into reality with a sigh. The world resumes around me and my moment of peace is gone.