“Blood is thicker than…”Over the next three months, I spent hours in the library reading poetry and classic literature, I wrote, and I partied. I was living for today. Not in the past. Murray had died in the fire and I found it challenging to not think about him whenever I visited the seashell bench. Sometimes I thought I could actually sense his little paws running next to me. I missed the little guy. What I wouldn’t give to feel his soft fur and look into his loving eyes.
Frank and I carried on a long-distance relationship spending hours on Skype. It felt as though the romance was beginning to cool off. He was surprised when I told him about how I’d given up time travel.
“Whatever makes you happy,” he said.
“Its writing,” I told him. “Writing fills me up.”
The inspiration and encoura
